Fear of Falling
by OyHumbug
Summary: Ryan Atwood and Marissa Cooper meet on a transcontinental flight from Columbus, Ohio to Seattle, Washington when something goes disasterously wrong. In the face of death, they share the most profound moment in either of their lives, forever changing the c
1. Chapter 1

**Fear of Falling**

Chapter One

There was something about airplanes that put Ryan Atwood in a contemplative mood. Maybe it was his fear of heights, the knowledge that a few thin pieces of metal bolted together was the only thing keeping him from tumbling thousands of feet to his death, that made him suddenly want to examine his life. Perhaps it was because he was on a late flight, the peace and quiet of the jet lulling him into a thoughtful mood where sleep was far away and his life was suddenly staring right back at him, judging his decisions. Then again, it could have just been that he was at a cross roads in his life; he could just sense that something significant was going to happen, and, when it did, he wanted to be ready for it. He just hoped this something significant would change his life for the better….._at least it couldn't really get much worse_, he thought sullenly to himself as he let his eyes drift over the other passengers on the plane.

Most of them were trivial, the usual people you would see flying. Glancing around the dim business class compartment, his eyes wandered over sleeping junior executives, their hands securely fastened unto their briefcases as if they were holding the key secrets to their companies' success, elderly women, snoring softly, as they traveled together for a ladies' club weekend at a cheesy hotel, all in their matching shirts, and strong, self-assured women quietly reading how-to books for they depended upon no one to help them and refused to sleep for it would be a sign of weakness, but there was only one person who interested him at all, who made him wonder what they were like, who kept drawing his wandering gaze back towards them.

She was sitting right beside him, dreamily staring out their open window, a winsome, bemused, peaceful expression across her beautiful face. It was a face he could get lost in, a face to build a life on, a face he couldn't get enough of. While he knew he had never seen it before, it felt as if he had known her his entire life. It was the strangest feeling in the world, yet comforting at the same time, lulling his nervous mind and body into a sense of tranquility as his thoughts fluttered over his life, every so often letting his eyes glance at her again.

For one thing, he thought about his career. There was really only one thing Ryan had been interested in his whole life growing up…._well beside the usual teenage obsession…girls_, he chucked to himself silently. Sports. He played all through high school, and, by the time he graduated, his grades and moderate talent were good enough to get him a partial scholarship to a local college, and he went without an idea of what he'd do when he graduated. He knew he had to do something – he now had a family to support, but that was a whole other story, a whole other concern that his mind could only deal with in proper order. First, he wanted to think about the only partially decent thing in his life, perhaps because it was the only thing he was good at. Two years into his college experience, which was very a atypical one, he decided the only thing he could do was somehow be around the sporting world, so his advisor recommended journalism, telling him they always needed good sports writers for newspapers. Although he was not one for words, the short, choppy, basic style of a journalist suited him, and, because he was virtually a library of facts and figures for every sport under the sun, the job came easily to him. Five years after graduation, he had worked his way up from the local Chino newspaper, Chino being the town he had spent his teen years growing up in and the town he had been forced to remain a member of to this day, to a national sports magazine that he traveled for, giving him the perfect opportunity to be away from home. _Home, now that's a laughable idea_, Ryan mused to himself, rolling his crisp, blue eyes in the process, not evening noticing the slight groan that escaped his tensed lips at the sheer thought of it.

He had been sixteen when his sometimes friend other times bed buddy Theresa had told she was pregnant, staunchly Catholic and pregnant, insisting that he do the right thing by her and their unborn child and marry her. Her mother, she had claimed, would have it no other way. He wanted to laugh at her, mock her beliefs. Where the hell was her religion when she slept with him out of wedlock in the first place? Funny how she conveniently became a good, pious church mouse the instant she was afraid, but he never said a thing, never even demanded proof, and he married her. Sixteen, naïve, and jobless, Ryan Atwood had gotten married, given up his freedom, and moved in with his new wife, mother-in-law, and brother-in-law. A few weeks later, it became apparent that there was no baby. Whether or not she lost it or had made it up, he never knew, but eleven years later, they were still married.

Considering everything that had been stacked against them, it was amazing how well their lives turned out. They both finished high school, and while he went to college on his scholarship, working full time at night after his various sports practices were over, she worked full time in local bakeries. Her brother had gone to jail their senior year of high school, so when her Mom died when they were 21, she left them her house, and suddenly their lives were a little more secure. Theresa started selling baked goods to friends and neighbors out of their kitchen, eventually, with a loan, opening up her own bakery. They were Chino's success story; their town's version of a fairytale. Both accomplished with no criminal record, they were considered the perfect couple.

Just the year before, they had sold Theresa's Mom's house and bought a larger, family home as Theresa had referred to it, claiming she was ready to be a mom just as soon as he was ready to become a dad. The thought of having children scared the living hell out of him though, and to avoid it, he just started to travel even more for work, always jumping at the chance to fly around the country to various sporting events for his office that was based in LA. On average, he was home perhaps maybe five days a month. Theresa told her friends he was passionate about his job, working so much so that they could put money away for their children. 'He always took care of her,' she told them with a proud smile on her face never suspecting the real truth.

In all actuality though, he felt trapped in his life, trapped in his home, trapped in his marriage, and his work was the only thing that helped him escape. He was going to be 30 in less than three years, and looking at his life, there was not a single thing in it Ryan Atwood could actually claim to enjoy, even the simplest pleasures in life held no shine for him any longer. Catching his favorite movie late at night when he couldn't sleep made him merely sigh in frustration that they couldn't make movies now the way they used to, joining an impromptu game of baseball in the park as he took a walk around the cities he traveled to only made him realize that he was not good enough to be a professional athlete, having, instead, to settle for writing about the talented people in the world that he envied, and ordering his favorite food at a restaurant as he sat by himself night after night for dinner only made him realize that he didn't enjoy his food because there wasn't someone he wanted to share his meals with – all he got out of them was another reason for another late night gym session. If truth be told, the only thing that had given him the slightest glimmer of pleasure in over six months was sitting beside him totally oblivious to the fact that he even existed. _But perhaps it's better that way_, Ryan said to himself. _This way she can remain perfect – the fantasy I can enjoy for the rest of the flight, for all future flights, forever being the phantom, the unattainable, the dream. _He really had learned how to turn a phrase over the years.

Eye lids heavy, Ryan glanced down at his watch. _Twenty minutes until we land_, he noticed, his lack of sleep finally catching up with him as a silent yawn escaped the confines of his mouth. It had been a long day. He had been in Columbus for just the evening, flying in from another job, another event, another story, to cover the college football game that night, and had to leave again on the red eye to Seattle so he could be there the next morning for the professional football game that afternoon. He didn't mind though. The constant travel, the never-ending drone of thousands of fans screaming at the top of their voices, and the mundane routine of watching and writing, watching and writing kept him from going….back…to his reality, to his so-called home.

Snapping him out of his thoughts, the enchanting woman beside him squirmed in her seat, whimpering slightly as her cramped body protested to the tight spaces they were in. Her movements reminded him of the innocence of a child, but just looking at her let him know she was no such thing. She was everything a woman was supposed to be and more. Although she had been awake for most of the flight, she had fallen asleep for the last 40 minutes, but slowly she came back to consciousness as if she sensed it was almost time for them to land. Their eyes locked for a moment when her lids struggled open and she took in her surroundings, blue on blue, a perfect match, until he blushed slightly in his ears, gave her a small, gentle smile, and turned away, noticing they were the only two passengers awake on the tediously silent plane.

The sudden movement of the stewardesses caught both of their attention, their eyes simultaneously following the panicked, pale professionals of the air. They kept disappearing into the cockpit, one at a time, reemerging to whisper guardedly to each other, the youngest one, an obvious rookie, breaking down in terrified sobs to be led away by who one would presume was the most experienced of the group.

"Landing equipment's bad" ….. "He's looking for a safe place to land, but this is Seattle; there's only the ocean, city buildings, and trees." ….. "I wonder if he'd let us make a phone call home to our families." …. "Should we tell the passengers?"

He could have listened further, kept on eavesdropping as he realized that his irrational fear of heights he had suffered from his whole life was suddenly not so crazy, that perhaps he had been preparing himself for this day since he was little boy. Maybe all those people who said nothing was a coincidence, that everything happened for a reason were right. If only he had trusted himself and never gotten on an airplane….if only, if only, if only, Ryan's brain droned on, a constant lament of regrets assaulting his abruptly wide-awake mind.

"Oh god," the woman beside him cursed warily, the panic etched across her face, her voice snapping him out of his pity session. "This cannot be happening; I cannot die without any underwear on!"

Although she was serious, her shame over her lack of proper attire completely sincere, Ryan, in that moment, had never heard anything so funny in his entire life, and, immediately, he started laughing. Turning to her, he teased, "We're about to die, and all you can think about is what you're wearing?"

"Well….yeah," she bemoaned, her face tinged with an embarrassed blush as she buried her head in her hands, her voice muffled when she spoke again. "How would you like to be forever remembered for dying without having any underwear on? How would you like to know that your headstone read 'here lies the skank who traveled cross country without her skivvies on?' How would you like it if your little sister would have to come and identify your mangled body while the coroner snickered in the background because the deceased couldn't be bothered to put anything on underneath her pants before flying home from vacation?"

He couldn't help it. Looking at her fear filled eyes, pleading with him to make her feel better about her current predicament, he really wanted to comfort her, say something to make the gorgeous woman he had spent the entire flight admiring feel better, but the utter hilariousness of the situation wouldn't let him go, and he let out a loud, amused guffaw, only serving to further humiliate her. _She's adorable when she's embarrassed,_ he realized, smirking to himself and deciding to have some fun with her. _Hell, I might as well_, Ryan realized. _It'll be too late to have fun tomorrow_.

Glancing around to make sure no one was paying any attention to them, he leaned over towards her seat and, in soft tone, asked, "who the hell says skivvies any more," eliciting a peal of tinkling giggles out of the bashful woman beside him.

It took her a minute to calm back down, their shared laughter easing some of the tension and fright out of her body. Turning towards Ryan, she studied his face for a moment before demanding, "tell me something about you that no one else knows. Tell me your biggest secret. I've already revealed my complete disregard of proper etiquette and dress, baring my soul of its deepest, darkest secret," she continued prompting him to smirk at her comment, "so it's only fair that you unburden your soul as well."

And she was right – it was the perfect time for him to finally admit to someone the secret he had been harboring for eleven years. It made sense to him, to tell her; it was as if she was the only person in the world he could tell his secret to. "I don't love my wife," he replied calmly, meeting her strong gaze, neither of them blinking. "I mean I love her like a man loves his childhood friend, his pet dog, his favorite family memory, but I'm not in love with her. I never have been." When she didn't say anything, when she just continued to stare at him at a loss for words, he started to become unnerved. "Say something….say anything, please," he begged her.

"I haven't had sex since I was 16," she shared with him, her eyes wide with disbelief at herself that she had confessed that embarrassing piece of information about her life. "Oh my god, why am I even talking to you," she asked herself, an anxious hand going to her forehead to scrub against it violently in an agitated fashion. Refusing to meet his eye, she rambled out an explanation so quickly he had to determinedly listen and make mental notes to understand what she was saying. "I don't even know why," she confessed bewildered. "It's not like I'm against sex; I like sex….a lot, I miss it, like…everyday, but I was just….too busy and the opportunity never really presented itself."

"What's your fantasy then," Ryan asked her, his curiosity peaked for more than one reason. "You've had eleven long years to think about this," he pushed, "so if you could have sex one last time, where would it be and with whom?"

"Underneath a magnolia tree," she answered at length, slowly, "there's always been something about the scent of magnolias that drive me crazy, in a good way, and it would be raining," she added, her eyes glazing over with imaginary temptation and lust. "Not just raining, but a thunderstorm, at night, so that the rain droplets could filter through the thick leaves of the tree and wash over our bodies." Swallowing thickly, her cheeks flushed with just the thought of her vision, she met his eyes. "As for who I would be with, I'm not sure. Just as long as I loved them and they loved me, it would be perfect." Smirking devilishly, she amended, "Oh, and he'd have to be really hot, too," making Ryan snicker softly as the plane, the other passengers, and the impending danger rapidly disappeared from their minds leaving them alone in their thoughts, together. "What about you," she finally inquired, breaking through the silence that had enfolded them after her erotic confession. "What's your ultimate fantasy?"

Ryan spoke quickly. This was something he had been planning since he was fourteen. "Me, the hottest woman imaginable, and the home plate at Wrigley Field – the lights would be on, the stadium empty, and every single pun would definitely be intended."

"You wouldn't like sports at all, would you," the bewitching woman across from teased, her eyes twinkling with mirth and delight. "And do we know who this hottest woman imaginable is?"

Looking her up and down, making his message very clear, Ryan responded, "Yeah, I might have a few ideas." Seeing her lose of composure, he chuckled once again before changing the topic. "Okay, your turn to ask a question."

"Um…..kids," she pondered out loud, her face loosing its excitement as pain flashed across her countenance once again. "Do you have any, and, if not, do you want any…..did you want any," she amended softly.

"No, I don't have any kids," Ryan told her easily, but the second part of her question was a little more difficult. "And as for whether or not I wanted them, I guess….yeah, I did,… just not with my wife." When she didn't even blink at his answer, her eyes void of judgment or scorn, he returned the question to her. "What about you?"

"I feel like I've been a Mom for years," she acknowledged softly leaving him to wonder what she meant when she just pushed on to the second part of her own question. "But I wanted to experience the whole thing, you know, the swollen belly, the cravings, sore back and feet, labor, breast feeding, the terrible two's, the first day of kindergarten, first crush, prom, graduation, first love, marriage, grandchildren, but now…."

She couldn't finish her thought though as his lips were suddenly crashed into hers, his mouth taking hers over and over again in the most passionate, sensual, tender embrace that either of them had ever had. It held all their fears, all their dreams, all their memories, a final expression of who they were as people and who they had always wanted to be. That kiss, that blissfully delicious moment where they lost themselves in each other was the most perfect moment in either of their lives. In the face of death, they had both finally opened up their hearts to someone, even if they were perfect strangers, and let them in, given all of themselves in the few minutes they had left to share.

Pulling away breathless, their foreheads resting on each others, Ryan let his hands find those of the woman's beside him, joining their fingers together in a trusting, soothing embrace, needing to feel the comfort she gave him and the reassurance he returned to her.

"Tell me your name," he asked her softly, his lips brushing against hers as he spoke.

"Marissa," she breathed out, her gasps for air still erratic from their life altering kiss. "And you?"

"Ryan."

And so they remained there, joined together as one in their fear and pain yet thankful for the few minutes they had spent with each other. Strangely, if they were going to die, neither of them could imagine wanting to spend their last moments alive with anyone else. Being with each other then, in that situation it just….fit; it just made sense. Everything else faded away: the flashing lights, the panicked cries from the now awake passengers, the pilot's instructions and updates, the crying stewardesses, the oxygen masks that had fallen free from their holding compartments, the early morning scenery flashing by their still open window at a dizzying speed – it all faded away as the two strangers lost themselves in each other.

Walking off the plane and into the middle of a meadow outside of Seattle, a suddenly clear headed, appreciative, thankful Ryan followed the quiet, shy woman in front of him as they made their way to the rescue vehicle that would take them into the city. Minutes before they had just shared the most intimate moment of either of their lives, and now, after surviving, miraculously, something that should have killed them both, they were like two inexperienced, embarrassed teenagers again after their first kiss. Neither had said anything; neither knew what to say.

Letting his eyes wander her body, he realized that he was not afraid of heights; he was afraid of falling….afraid of falling off the ladder when his wife made him clean out the eave spouts every year, afraid of falling out of a tree when he had to climb it in order to trim some errant branches, afraid of falling out of a carnival ride to the extent where he refused to step foot in a fair or an amusement park, or afraid of falling in love at the most inopportune yet perfect time with the innocent pixie of a woman he had finally, whole heartedly opened himself up to, the first person he had ever shared that level of closeness with.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Okay, so this is it. Bathroom is down the hall….."

"Marissa," Ryan attempted to interrupt her. After the rescue workers had checked them out on the way in from the meadow outside of Seattle where the plane had made its emergency landing, declaring they were both physically sound, just minor bumps and bruises from being jostled by the rough landing, they had briefly talked, the conversation awkward and disjointed, agreeing to take a cab together to her apartment. She didn't want to be alone; he didn't feel like staying at an impersonal, cold hotel, so she had invited him to stay the day with her. A quick yes from Ryan had led them here, to Marissa's rambling while he determined to actually talk about what happened between them. It was proving rather difficult though.

"And I have both, a shower and a tub, so you can pick whichever you prefer….though guys tend to shower more than they take baths, but I wouldn't judge you if you liked baths. I think it's perfectly fine for a man to take a bath. It shows that he's comfortable with his masculinity and is not intimidated by stereotypes or clichés."

Trying again, Ryan interrupted her. "Marissa."

"Oh, and if you need a toothbrush, there's an extra one in the second drawer on the right side of the vanity. Everything else you should need, toothpaste, towels, shampoo, soap, it should all be sitting out." Walking away, she started to move towards the living area of the small, comfortable, homey apartment, fussing with pillows and blankets by the couch the entire time until finally he got her attention.

"Marissa!" Turning her head, she looked up at him, bewildered as to why he had raised his voice and why he hadn't moved to go to the bathroom yet. "It's okay," he continued, explaining himself. "Just calm down….please."

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she attempted to do what he said. "I'll try….it's just…..I've never been in a situation like this before."

"If it makes you feel any better, neither have I," Ryan offered, smiling kindly. "Listen, I have an idea. You seem tense. Go, take a shower….or bath," he teased, smirking at her and making her blush at the memory of her ramble, "and I'll cook us some breakfast."

"You don't mind? I mean, you're the guest; you should shower first," Marissa offered, trying to be the polite hostess. Suddenly, as if the last part of his statement had finally registered in her mind, she realized out loud, "wait, did you just say you can cook?"

"A little," he responded modestly. "Have any requests?"

"About the only thing you'll be able to make in my kitchen is coffee. I don't exactly keep it well stocked."

"Well, I saw a store down the street," Ryan offered. "I'll just run down there while you're showering and pick up a few things. When I get back, we can talk while I cook. What do you say?"

Shyly, with a small grin tugging at the corners of her mouth, Marissa asked, "could you maybe pick up orange juice, pulp free….if it's not too much of a hassle?"

"Isn't orange juice a breakfast necessity," Ryan mocked her, making the smile that was forming on her face grow wider. Seeing her nod her head in agreement, he turned to walk out of the apartment, dropping the bags he was still carrying by the front door as Marissa turned to walk down the hallway which led to her bathroom.

"Wait," she shouted, running back out to him, startling Ryan. "Oh, and could you possibly buy a pack of those Pillsbury cinnamon rolls, too." Blushing, she confessed. "They're like the only thing I can make that's semi-appetizing for breakfast, and I want to be able to contribute something to this meal."

Laughing, Ryan walked out of the room, tossing his response back over his shoulder. "I think I could handle that." And with one last shared smirk, he left her alone, hoping she would listen to him and relax.

Ryan had breakfast well underway when Marissa emerged from a puff of steam out of the bathroom door, her hair thrown up in a light pink, soft towel and dressed in a pair of Ohio State sweatpants and matching sweatshirt.

"We really need to discuss your college sports team loyalties," Ryan teased her, handing her the roll of cinnamon rolls to start preparing.

"Sorry, but I really don't watch sports." When he looked at her confused because of her outfit, she explained. "My sister goes there, so they were gifts from her. They were free and they're warm, so they work for me."

"Your sister, I take it she's the other woman in all the pictures around here with you," Ryan asked curious. "What's she studying?"

"Yes, she's the other woman, and she's going to be a vet," Marissa replied, taking a large gulp out of the glass of orange juice Ryan had placed in front of her. "What were you doing when I was taking a shower, snooping around my apartment?"

"No, I wasn't, but that's not a bad idea," he joked with her, elbowing her softly in the side. "Why don't you go back and take another one, while I sneak around and look for all your secrets."

"I do believe we covered those on the plane." Putting the tray of frozen cinnamon rolls in the oven Ryan had preheated for her, Marissa, feeling awkward once again, moved away from the kitchen and into the living area it overlooked.

Taking the pan of scrambled eggs off of burner and turning the sausage to low, he followed her. Moving to stand in front of the small fireplace, he picked up one of the pictures, an older one of Marissa and her sister, perhaps when they were both still teenagers, and peered into it, silently, for a moment. "I don't think you can ever know every secret about a person," he finally responded softly, looking up to meet her nervous eyes. "For instance, would you tell me why it appears as if you don't have any parents? I know science and medicine are advancing to unbelievable regions, but I don't think it's possible to hatch a human yet."

"I have parents….all people do," Marissa conceded, her voice barely above a whisper. Moving towards him, she stood by his side, picking up the picture that had been right beside the one Ryan was still holding. "I was sixteen in this picture," she told him, holding it up so they could both see it, "and Caitlyn, that's my sister, she was only twelve. We had just located here to Seattle from Newport Beach."

"Southern California," Ryan interrupted, surprised. "I'm from Chino."

Giving him a genuine smile, she laughed. "It's quite the small world, isn't it," but continued without waiting for a response from him. "Two months before this was taken, on the night of my debutant ball, my Dad had been arrested for embezzlement. My Mom bailed him out with the little money they had in their savings since he had practically drained that account, too, and a week later, she found him hanging from a tree in our backyard. In his note he said he couldn't take hurting us anymore."

Snorting in indignation, Ryan couldn't help but exclaim softly under his breath, "yeah, because I'm sure leaving you, your sister, and your Mom, all innocent in the situation he created, to clean up after his mess didn't hurt you at all," but she heard him anyway.

"You're right," she answered him, sniffling to hold back the tears. When he noticed that she was becoming upset, he motioned for them to sit down on the couch. Putting the picture back that he was holding, he led her to sit down beside him, gingerly putting his left arm around her delicate shoulders and holding her in comfort while she continued to talk, staring down at the picture still in her hands the whole time. "My Mom had to sell everything, the house, the cars, even her personal jewelry in order to make back what he had stolen from his clients, and by the time she had made full restitution, there was nothing left. Eventually, she left, too." Knowing that Ryan would need more information to understand what had happened, she took a deep breath and plunged right back into her story. "I'm not even sure why. Some people said she had met someone who had promised to take care of her if she left us behind, but I think it was just the fact that she couldn't stand to be poor again. She had gotten out of Riverside when she was eighteen, and she always swore she'd never go back. So, she packed her clothes, took the last bit of money we had that was supposed to go towards groceries, and took off. I've haven't seen or heard from her since."

"So then you and your sister….Caitlyn, you what," Ryan asked, "you relocated here to live with an aunt or cousin or something?"

"That would have been nice," Marissa laughed ruefully, turning around to look Ryan in the eye, "but, no, Seattle just happened to be where the first bus leaving Newport was going. We couldn't stay there. It was just….too hard. So I packed us up, only taking what we needed, and we moved. After a few months of staying in a shelter, I got a couple of jobs, sent Caitlyn back to school, and found us a cheap apartment. Eventually, I found a pro-bono lawyer and he helped me become Caitlyn's legal guardian. Eleven years later, here I am. I saved enough money to help my little sister through college and now she's on her way to becoming a vet, I have a nice apartment, a few friends, and I'm happy. But, most importantly, I did it on my own."

"And that's why you said it feels like you've been a Mom for years," Ryan realized. "You've been taking care of your little sister since you were sixteen years old.

"It's also why I haven't had sex in eleven years," Marissa confessed, a deep blush covering her cheeks as she diverted her eyes away from Ryan's. "Don't deny it; I know you've been wondering about that since we got off the plane."

"Perhaps fleetingly," he conceded, winking at her slyly.

Feeling the need to explain, she continued. "It was just more important making sure I paid the bills and gave Caitlyn at least a semblance of a normal life. All my free time, I spent it with her, going to her basketball games, taking her to her riding lessons, helping her get ready for school dances. A personal life just wasn't….possible."

"Yeah, but Caitlyn graduated from high school years ago, right," Ryan argued. "Surely you've had time to go on dates since then."

"A few," she disclosed, "but it's hard to get back into that world when you've been out of it for so long. Plus, I still work a lot, I'm independent, and I'm stubborn. I've never needed a man in my life, and I'm not about to start needing one now. Don't get me wrong," she stopped him from interrupting, "if I met a man that I WANTED in my life, that would be a different story, but being single doesn't define who I am. There are more important things in my life than dating."

"I guess that makes sense," he replied, grinning at her, "and hell, who am I to argue with that logic. You're talking to a guy who's been married since he was sixteen and regretted the decision every day since. It's probably a smart idea to not rush into a relationship."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Marissa, I've been prying into your life for the past ten minutes, I think you're due a question or two."

"Okay then," she began, looking at him seriously. "Why did you get married then? I mean, it's obvious that you really didn't want to."

"We thought she was pregnant….she said she was," he started only to sigh and scrub his face in frustration, "but, at this point, I wonder if maybe she made the whole thing up to trap me. I know that sounds terrible, to think that of your wife," he explained hastily, not wanting her to think less of him, "but, looking back, it's the only thing that makes sense to me sometimes. She knew she was in love with me, I knew she was in love with me, but we also both knew that I was no where near being in love with her."

"But you did the right thing anyway," Marisa argued with him. "That has to say something, that you at least cared."

"I did….I do," he acknowledged, "just….not enough." Groaning, he stood up and took the picture Marissa was still holding out of her hand before walking back to her and offering to help her up. "Come on," he cajoled, "we shouldn't be talking about such heavy stuff. This morning, we had a life and death experience and came out on the winning side. We shouldn't be moping about, lamenting over what was and what we can't do anything about now; we should be having fun…..and checking on breakfast so we don't burn it."

"But we still have one more serious thing to talk about," Marissa argued as Ryan pulled her to her feet and they walked towards the kitchen together.

"That's right," he concurred as he dished out the eggs and sausage onto two plates while Marissa went to open the oven to check on her cinnamon rolls. "You still need to explain that little, tiny, insignificant, very funny detail about not having any underwear on during the flight." Jumping at the sound of the oven door falling open loudly, Ryan turned to see a horrified Marissa hiding behind her pot holder covered hands. Laughing, he taunted her, "you really didn't think I would forget about that, did you?"

"You're an ass," Marissa playfully yelled, unable to keep the smile off of her blushed faced. "And yes, I was hoping you'd forget that confession I offered up under duress.

"But it was the juiciest one of the whole conversation," he reasoned, moving to take the cinnamon rolls out for her as she seemed incapable of moving, "well…..maybe except for the sex fantasy you shared with me. That was definitely juicy….and really hot."

"You're married," Marissa reminded him.

"But I'm not dead," he returned to her slyly, motioning for her to take a seat on one of the barstools while he put the icing on the rolls.

"If I tell you why I didn't have any underwear on, will you promise me something?"

Looking at her curiously, he responded, "how can I agree to that if I don't know what I'm promising to." Seeing her glare, he held up his hands in accordance. "Fine, you win; I promise to do….whatever you want me to."

"Okay, so I'm a really organized person when it comes to things like my apartment or my checkbook. Everything has a place in here where it belongs and I never bounce a check, but I'm not so good about packing." Laughing, she continued. "I hate it, and I'm terrible at it. I either take too much and always the wrong thing….or not enough in this case. Last night, when I woke up from my nap, I showered and then went to get dressed when I noticed I had no clean underwear left." Looking over at her, Ryan could see that she was still red in the face from embarrassment. "It was late, there were no stores open close to my sister's apartment, and I was running behind, so I just….went without. It was the most horrifying experience in my life, and from now on when I travel I'm making sure I have enough underwear to last me at least a month."

Pouting, he ribbed her, "now that's no fun," only to elicit another glare. "What," he asked her pretending to be innocent.

"That is what you have to promise me, that we, you and me, will only be friends. You're married, Ryan, and there's no way I could ever be with a man who cheated on his wife."

"Fine," he conceded, "but we'll be friends who flirt."

"Ryan," she complained, frustrated by his tone and words.

"Oh, come on, Marissa," he fought back. "We're just having fun, innocent, no one gets hurt fun."

"Fine," she relented, "we can be friends who TEASE each other, good naturedly, like friends do….about friendly things, not about friends with benefits things, but friendly things, like me not knowing how to cook or you….I don't know, snoring in your sleep."

"Could you have perhaps fit the word friend in that little speech one more time," he joked, making her roll her eyes. Handing her a plate of food, he settled down in the stool beside her, both of them silent as they thought about what they had just agreed to, the idea that they would only be friends. "You know," he admitted, breaking the quiet after a moment, "just to let you know, I'd never be able to cheat on my wife. No matter what, I do love her…..as a friend and, perhaps more importantly, I respect her….and I respect women. If I fell in love with another person, I'd never be able to, I don't know, cheapen that with an affair."

Smiling at him brightly, Marissa leaned in and gave him a harmless hug. "Good to know."

The rest of their breakfast passed by uneventfully. He told her about his job, inviting her to the game that night with him as his guest, while she told him more about her sister and their relationship, sharing amusing stories about the innocent trouble they would get into when they still lived together. Soon, they found all the food to be gone, and Ryan went to take a shower while Marissa cleaned up the kitchen, agreeing to spend the afternoon together while she showed him the attractions and points of interest only a local would know. It was the perfect start to a beautiful _friendship_.

Ryan Atwood was exhausted. The game had gone into overtime, so he never got a chance to take a power nap before his flight. He had barely had time to take Marissa back to her apartment, exchange numbers and email information with her, and grab his bags; in fact, he had to run through the airport terminal to catch his flight. Then, of course, just as he had been the previous night, he couldn't sleep on the plane. He had been prepared to battle his inner demons, his fear of falling from the sky rearing its ugly head, especially after his near accident, but his phobia never surfaced. Instead, he had spent the whole flight going over the past twenty-four hours, savoring every second of his time with Marissa, wishing he could see her again soon, and reminding himself that she was only and would always remain just his friend. Unlocking his front door, he pushed his way into his house careful not to make a noise less he should wake up his wife. That was one thing he did not want to deal with that night, but the lights were off so he assumed she was fast asleep.

"Perfect timing," a faceless voice he recognized as Theresa's called out from the dark foyer, startling Ryan and causing him to drop his bags.

"Jesus Christ, Theresa," he yelled, not only annoyed that she was still awake but that she had interrupted his thoughts, leaving him, suddenly, alert and fully conscious, not even close to being tired enough to fall asleep.

Tone piqued, she snapped back, "you know I don't like it when you say that!"

"What the hell are you doing sitting here in the dark," he inquired, ignoring her comment about his choice of expletives. "Are you trying to kill me?!"

"I was trying to be romantic, you know, set the mood," she explained, standing up and moving towards him. As soon as he felt her hands on his chest, he jumped back moving away from her clutches.

"Not now, Theresa," Ryan said forcefully, "I'm exhausted.

"Oh come on, honey, please," she cajoled, missing him wince when she used the endearment. "It's the perfect time for me right now. I'm ovulating and I just checked my temperature and it's the perfect time to make a baby."

"I haven't slept in over 36 hours. I'm tired, grumpy, and, frankly, not in the mood. Plus," he added for extra emphasis, "I have to go into the city tomorrow to meet with my boss and get my next assignment."

"But…..we only have a small window of opportunity," Theresa complained, her voice soft with pain and disappointment. "It won't take long, I promise."

"Wow, way to boost my ego and put me in the mood!"

"Ryan, I'm sorry! You know that's not what I meant," she argued with him, chasing after his fleeing figure as he moved towards his office. "It's just….it's been a while, and you're never here….."

"I'm not here because I'm working," he pointed out, none to gently.

"I know that, and I would never ask you to change; it's who you are, but," she stopped abruptly, forcing back her tears.

Sighing loudly, he turned to face her. "But what?"

Quietly, she responded. "It's just….sometimes it feels as if you don't want to try for a baby. You do want children, don't you?"

"Yes," he replied honestly, thankful that she couldn't see his face or the far away look in his eyes. "If anything has become abundantly clear this weekend, that has. I want kids." Before she could ask what he meant by that, he cut her off once again. "Maybe next month."

"Oh….okay. Are you coming to bed?"

"In a little while," Ryan said nonchalantly, walking into his office. "I'm going to send in my story from tonight, check my email, you know…."

"Yeah," Theresa agreed solemnly, "I do know. Goodnight Ryan. I love you."

Absently, he returned her goodnight, leaving out three very important words. As his wife walked up the stairs which led to the second floor of their house, a second floor with four bedrooms, only one of which was occupied while the other stood empty, waiting for the children she wanted to have, she cried to herself, only too familiar with what Ryan's previously open ended sentence meant. It meant he would once again fall asleep at his desk and wake up only after a few hours and disappear from the house to go into the city without even a word to her, get his new assignment, and come back home to pack up and leave again. Sometimes he left so quickly, she didn't even get to say goodbye to him. That was why she wanted a baby so badly. A baby would be a part of the husband she loved so much, but it would also love her back, be there, always by her side, for her to love and cherish whenever and as often as she wanted. Crawling into the large, cold bed she was supposed to share with Ryan, she eventually fell asleep while her husband sat wide awake at his computer, setting a chain of events in motion that would forever change not only their lives but many others as well. In the dark, the glowing computer screen the only illumination in the room, Ryan sat at his desk, surrounded with his cherished sports memorabilia, going through the archives of the _Orange County Register_, reading everything and anything connected to one Marissa Cooper.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"I remember when I was a little girl and Caity and I would go trick-or-treating together," Marissa recalled feeling nostalgic for the past. "You've never seen loot until you collect candy in Newport Beach. You just didn't get a few mini candy bars, you got treat bags stuffed full of every sort of candy you could imagine, and not candy you could buy in the store, but expensive, foreign chocolate. I even got a gift certificate once to a toy store for $50." When she stopped to hear Ryan's response, she was startled when the line went completely quiet for several moments. "Are you still there," she asked him.

"Yeah, I'm just….wow. That's insane," Ryan eventually exclaimed. "Here, in Chino, we were lucky if we got one of those cheap dum-dum suckers that banks give out to little kids."

"So then I doubt you would have had intense trading sessions where you would align your candy, sort it, and then try to dupe people into trading you your favorite kind," she asked him, giggling slightly at the childhood memory.

"No," Ryan answered her, "in my neighborhood you'd get your candy and run for it, so that it wouldn't get stolen. And then, once you did make it home safely, you had to hide it so that your family wouldn't eat it."

"Your family would take your Halloween candy?"

"And anything else they wanted," he countered. "Nothing was safe."

"Tell me about them," Marissa asked, "your family. You've never really mentioned them before, and, I have to tell you, I've been curious about them ever since you told me you got married at 16. I mean, who lets their kid do that?"

"Dawn Atwood does," Ryan responded with a laugh. Ten years ago he wouldn't have been able to dismiss his troubled family so easily, but, at that point in his life, they didn't bother him anymore. They were just another thing that made him who he was. "My family….well let's just say they weren't the ideal American household."

"Oh, come on, that does not exist," Marissa interrupted, making him smile at her words. Even through the phone he could tell she was shaking her head and rolling her eyes in disbelief. "Look at my family. On the outside, it looked like we were perfect, but underneath everything, we were a mess, a mess that eventually destroyed us."

"Not all of you, you were strong enough to survive, and because of your strength, you saved your sister," Ryan pointed out, arguing with her.

Marissa was quiet for a moment while she thought. "You know, as weird as this might sound, sometimes I'm glad it all happened. I mean, not that my Dad killed himself but that I was forced to grow up. Before that happened to my family, I was out of control, partying, drinking, throwing my life away with both hands, but then I was forced to mature by the fact that there was no one there to clean up my messes any longer, and there was my innocent, baby sister who, if no one took care of her, would have probably ended up in foster care, and I just…I don't know, I took control of my life and became an adult overnight. It's been hard, I've done things I'm not proud of to survive, but I don't regret any of it."

"Maybe if I had been a little bit more like you, I wouldn't have ended up sixteen and married," Ryan suggested, his pride in her accomplishments evident in his voice.

"I don't understand; what do you mean?"

"Well, it's just that if I would have been brave enough to strike out on my own instead of hanging around my family waiting for them to destroy me, accepting what I thought was the inevitable, then I wouldn't have ever gotten involved with Theresa in the first place." Sighing, he confessed, "I had a chance, too. There was this guy my Mom dated for a while who worked construction. Their relationship didn't pan out, but he liked me and offered me a job if I would have wanted to go with him. For some reason, I didn't. Instead, I stayed in Chino, became my brother Trey's lapdog, doing whatever he told me when he told me just so that I could feel like I belonged somewhere, and took care of my Mom when she would get out of control and pass out because she was so drunk. Theresa became my escape. I could go over to her house, where, even though they had their own problems, they were still a functioning family. Her Mom would make sure I had a good meal before I went back home and Theresa would…..," his voice got softer, almost a whisper as he searched his mind for someway to describe his relationship with his wife before they were married, "keep me company."

"Ryan, we're both adults here," Marissa laughed freely, enjoying his apparent embarrassment. "You can tell me what really happened. You used her for sex." Waiting for his reply of confirmation, she just started laughing harder when the line remained cloaked in silence. "You're blushing right now, aren't you," she asked. "I embarrassed you!"

"Can we just get back on topic," he snapped, making her giggle even more as he rolled his eyes at her mirth and his inability not to smile at the sound of it.

"Right, of course," Marissa agreed. "Tell me more about your family. You mentioned your Mom and brother, but what about your Dad?"

"He went to prison when I was a little kid, armed robbery. I really don't remember much about him."

"So then, I take it, he never looked you up after he got out of prison?"

"If he tried to, I never knew anything about it, and, to be honest," Ryan admitted, "I preferred it that way. Trust me; not having any interaction with Tom Atwood is a good thing."

"Well then, that takes care of your Dad, but whatever happened to your brother and your Mom," Marissa continued to ask questions. "Surely they're around somewhere."

"Nope, at least not my Mom," he responded. "I had word a few years back that she died from liver sclerosis, which, considering the fact that she was an alcoholic was no big surprise. And, as for Trey, the last I heard he was running from the cops for who knows what. Rumor has it he went off to Mexico, so I doubt I'll ever see him again."

"Do you ever….miss them?" Her voice was soft, concerned, caring. "They might not have been perfect and they probably drove you crazy, but they were still your family. I know that I miss my Mom."

"You do," Ryan interrupted her, surprised by what she had admitted. "I thought you and your Mom didn't get along when you were growing up."

"Oh my god," Marissa laughed, "we fought like you would not believe. Everything I did was never good enough for her, and I always resented her harsh standards and cold attitude, but, at the end of the day, she was my Mom, and when I find myself having a bad week, sometimes I just want to curl up in my Mom's arms and let her hold me as I cry." Sniffling, she laughed at herself. "Listen to me, getting all emotional about this. It's really quite sad actually. I mean, she's been gone for eleven years, but still, whenever I walk by someone who is wearing her favorite perfume or hear a Bob Segar song, she loved his music, I instantly picture her face and get this ridiculous, childish longing to see her, even if it's just one more time."

"You're still young," Ryan pointed out, "so you never know what could happen. Maybe you will meet up with her again one day. Stranger things have happened."

"Yeah, well, we'll see," she dismissed, needing to change the subject and forget her past. "Anyway, you never answered my question. Do you ever miss your family?"

"No, not really," he answered truthfully, "but it's hard to miss what you never had. They were people in my life, but we were never a family. There was no support, no connection, no love; we just put up with each other. I do, however, want to someday know what it's like to have a family."

"Don't you have that with Theresa?"

"That's a laughable idea," Ryan snorted in disbelief. "We don't even know each other. She has no idea who I am, what I want from life, and I know nothing about her. We just coexist…and not very well at that. But that's enough about my marriage, it's almost Halloween, a holiday; we should be talking about good things, having fun."

Marissa wanted to know more. She had so many questions about his wife and his relationship with her. She just didn't understand why someone would stay in a marriage that made them so unhappy, but, unless he brought it up, she wouldn't, because she felt it was none of her business. She wasn't his girlfriend; she was just his friend and a new one at that. So, letting the subject pass, she delved right back into the conversation, steering it back towards topics that were fun as Ryan had requested.

"Fun, I can do that," she said out loud, silencing her personal, private thoughts. "How about you tell me what your favorite Halloween memory is since I already told you mine."

"Oh, that's an easy one. Besides being a drunk, my Mom was really lazy. She hated cleaning, and unless I did it, things never got done. One year, she hadn't paid our garbage bill. When it came time to throw the old pumpkins away, there was no dumpster to toss them in, so I just tossed them into the backyard and let them rot. I would throw lots of things on top of them from around the yard, the leaves and grass I would rake up and the branches that would fall off the trees, and it must have been enough to help the seeds grow, so by the next year, I had my own little pumpkin patch."

"How old were you," Marissa asked, his story amusing her so much as she imagined a young Ryan caring for his pumpkins.

"I was….man, I don't even remember, ten maybe. Anyway," he continued, "I really took care of those pumpkins. No one else cared about them, so they left me and the plants alone, and by the time Halloween came around, I had enough pumpkins to sell one to every kid in the neighborhood, making a few dollars for myself to spend on anything I wanted. I was so proud of myself," he laughed at the memories of his younger, naïve self, "but I also wasn't a good business man, because I forgot to save a pumpkin for my own use and didn't have anything to toss in the backyard to see if I could do it again."

"Why didn't you just buy some?" Teasing him, her voice mischievous, she pushed. "I'm sure even in Chino they sold packets of seeds."

"It just wouldn't have been the same thing. Anyone could have grown pumpkins from seeds they….." All of a sudden Ryan couldn't continue talking, because Marissa was laughing so hard he knew she wouldn't be able to hear him. "What is so funny," he finally managed to ask when she had to stop giggling to breathe.

"I'm sorry," Marissa said though even more giggles, "but I can't quit picturing a little Ryan in bib overalls, with his gardening tools, and a big, toothless smile as he looks, with pride, over his pumpkin patch. I'm surprised you didn't end up wanting to be a farmer."

"Oh, that would have gone over smoothly. 'Hey Theresa, I know that this is going to sound weird, but I really want to be a farmer, so let's pack up our stuff and move to the country.'" Just thinking about telling his wife that made Ryan join Marissa with his own laughter, both of them gasping for breath and Marissa having to wipe her tears of mirth away by the time they regained control.

"Thank you for that," Marissa taunted him. "Now I will be able to go to bed thoroughly exhausted. I don't remember the last time I laughed that hard. I think I pulled a muscle."

"See, this is why I should be there with you," Ryan explained, "I'd be able to give you a massage to help with your sore body."

"Uh, uh, uh," she reprimanded him, "that is definitely crossing the friends border we've established.

"What, friends give each other massages?!"

"Good morning, Ryan," Marissa replied, stifling a yawn and ignoring his comment while snuggling down in her bed, the early morning rays peeking through her blinds to partially illuminate her bedroom.

Knowing this meant their conversation was over and that she was about to fall asleep, Ryan returned her salutation with the one he said to her everyday; their routine having been perfected the first time they had talked to each other. "Goodnight, Marissa."

Hanging up the phone, he suddenly felt depressed. It seemed as if the only things that could make him smile now were Marissa's voice over the phone, her words in their constant emails, or her face when he saw her in his dreams. His schedule had not sent him back to Seattle yet, so it had been a few weeks since he'd seen her, and it was starting to wear on him. Sighing, he slipped his cell into his pants' pocket and stood up from his desk, preparing to sneak out of the house before Theresa woke up. It was just six in the morning, the sun just starting to creep over the horizon, so he assumed his wife would still be sleeping. He would be able to leave the house, drive into LA, have breakfast, go to the gym, and then continue into work and get his next assignment all without seeing his wife. At this point, he realized as he walked out of his office, he just couldn't deal with her.

"Did I just hear you talking," a voice broke through the stillness of the house. Apparently luck was not on his side.

"Nope, Theresa, you must be hearing things. I've just been," he paused as his mind searched for a reason as to why he would have, once again, spent the whole night in his office, "reviewing tapes to prepare myself for my next assignment."

"Oh, I didn't know that you already found out what you were working on next," she replied, walking out of the kitchen to meet him in the hall by the front door as he was slipping on his shoes. "Wait, where are you going if you don't have to go into the office to get your assignment?"

_Shit,_ Ryan swore to himself. Once again, he was caught in a lie. "Just to the gym and then I have to run some errands before I take off this afternoon."

"But what about the Halloween party we're supposed to go," Theresa argued with him. "I told you about it a couple of weeks ago. Remember, I told you that I'd already picked out our costumes. I'm going to be princess and you're going as a frog."

"Well," he countered, "this is work. I can't just call off because my wife wants to go to some ridiculous party where adults dress up and make fools of themselves. Besides, there's no way I would wear a frog costume."

"And, of course, like always, you weren't paying attention to me when I told you about it the first place, because otherwise, you would have argued with me then. Ryan," she complained, "I never see you. It's been months since we last spent any alone time together."

"I know," he agreed with, pretending to be checking his phone for a text message so he wouldn't have to look her in the eye. "It's just that work is crazy right now; I'm swamped. Soon, though, soon we'll do something, I promise."

And with that, he walked out the door, not even noticing how upset she was. Walking to his car, he realized that he probably wouldn't have to fly out for his next work assignment for a couple of days, but he had already told Theresa he would be leaving that afternoon. Smiling suddenly as he got a brainstorm, his dark mood once again became bright and chipper. "I think today is as good of a day as any to take a mini-vacation to Seattle," he said out loud, sliding into his car and turning it on. Pulling out of the driveway, he directed his car to LA where he would do all the things he had been planning on anyway but alter his plans slightly to pick up a few supplies for a little surprise he was planning for Marissa.

"Trick or Treat!"

"What….what are you doing here," Marissa exclaimed excitedly, "and why didn't you tell me you were coming. I would have gone out, bought some groceries, prepared a place for you to stay." Laughing at the man in front of her, his bags still in his hands, she simply stood there, holding the door, staring at him, too shocked to do anything else.

"I wanted to surprise you," he answered her, dropping his bags and taking in her into his arms for a tight hug. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn't help but close his eyes and bury his head a little too far into her hair, savoring the feeling of her body pressed up against his and the scent of her intoxicating, floral shampoo as it calmed his senses and made him feel at home. Even as she started talking again, he couldn't bring himself to pull away from her.

"I don't understand, Ryan," she said thoughtfully. "I checked the sports schedules to see if there were any important games coming up this week that you might get assigned to cover, but the football game is away this weekend and you wouldn't cover a pre-season basketball game. Did I miss something online….?"

"No," he answered her, finally releasing her from his tight grasp, "you didn't miss anything. I'm not here to work. I, in fact, have the next two days off and I wanted to see you, so here I am."

Ushering him into the apartment, she shut the door and then followed him to the living area where he sat down and motioned for her to sit beside him. "Did you know about this when we talked this morning?"

"I wanted to come and see you, I knew that this morning, but, instead of asking for a story here, I decided to just make this a personal trip. And," he continued, knowing she was about to ask more questions, "I'm here until Friday morning when I have to fly out and head to Texas for my next several projects, but there's more important things to talk about." Letting his eyes move up and down her body, he took in her appearance with a broad smile across his face. "For instance, what are you wearing?"

"It's my costume," she answered him, laughing at his bewilderment. "Every year we have this big party at work where we have to dress up. This year," she explained, standing up and doing a little spin to show off her outfit, "I'm Little Bo Beep."

"You have to go to work," Ryan asked, suddenly crestfallen, "but I had a whole night planned for us. I even brought supplies."

"Is it just me or does that sound mildly frightening?"

Standing up, he moved towards his bags, rolling his eyes at her sarcastic skepticism. Lifting one up, he set it on the coffee table in front of her couch and motioned for her to sit down again so he could show her what he brought with him. Opening up the bag, he revealed that it was completely filled with candy, a perfect mixture of cheap, Chino candy and the high end, expensive candy of Marissa's childhood in Newport.

"Ryan," Marissa cried out breathlessly, tears filling her eyes at how sweet his gesture was, "I can't believe you did this."

"I figured we could sort it out and trade all evening long, and, if that got boring," he continued talking as he stood up and moved towards his second bag, "I also brought the cheesiest scary movies I could find so we could make fun of them together."

"And we will do that, all of it," Marissa promised, sitting down once again and taking his hand in hers, squeezing it to show her sincerity, "just as soon as I get home work."

"Or I could just go with you," Ryan suggested, standing up and walking towards her bathroom. "I'm sure that between the two of us we will be able to think up a quick costume for me to wear."

"Ah…..," Marissa scrambled, unsure of what to say but thankful that Ryan was out of the room so he wouldn't be able to see her panicked face. "You can't," she eventually shouted out. "It's a private party." She hated lying to him, but some things were unavoidable. Besides, he didn't tell her everything about his marriage, so why should she have to tell him everything about her life?

"Well then, just call off," he suggested.

"I can't, Ryan. Trust me," she said honestly, standing up and meeting him in the middle of the room, "there's nothing more that I'd like to do than stay at home with you all night, but, even putting aside the fact that I live on a budget and need this money, I couldn't call off a half an hour before I'm supposed to be there. They'd never be able to find a replacement for me this late." Moving towards the counter in the kitchen where her things were gathered together, she started picking them up. "All I can do is try to get out early. I'm so sorry. You came here to spend time with me, and I have to leave ten minutes after you walked through the door for work."

"It's okay," Ryan dismissed. "If anyone understands the importance of work, it's me. I'll just….I don't know. I'll take a nap, get well rested so that we can spend some time together when you get home, and I'll fix you something to eat, too, so that we can eat an early breakfast together."

"I have to go," Marissa returned, moving towards the door and opening it. "Make yourself comfortable though. If you get bored, my computer is in my bedroom along with all my books, so feel free to use anything you want. I'll see you as soon as I can." And with that, she shut the door, leaving Ryan alone. Already bored without her there by his side, he dejectedly collapsed onto her couch surveying the living room as he thought about what he would do first, but his thoughts were soon interrupted by Marissa running back inside, panting for breath and holding up her skirts. "I almost forgot," she explained. "Tonight really is trick-or-treat, so I need to put out my bowl of candy for the kids. As long as the candy doesn't run out, which I got quite a bit, then they shouldn't bother you." Just as she went to put the bowl down outside of the door, his voice stopped her dead in her tracks.

"Wait, that's ridiculous," he pointed out. "I'm going to be here, alone with nothing to do, so why don't I just hand out the candy for you."

"You don't have to do that, Ryan."

"No," he argued, "I think it'll be fun. It's been years since I've seen little kids dressed up on Halloween. I should probably really catch up on what constitutes a cool costume these days."

"Well," she chuckled, "I appreciate it. It starts at 8:00, so make sure you're listening for the door." With one final smile, she ran back out the door, calling out over her shoulder, "have fun," before, once again, disappearing from Ryan's sight.

Silently, he made his way towards the candy bowl, picking out a piece to eat, before grabbing his coat, wallet, and the spare key he knew Marissa kept in the kitchen, making his way out the door as quickly as he could. He only had a little while before he would have to be back to pass out the candy, but, first, there were a few things he wanted to pick up for Marissa.

"Ryan, I'm back," Marissa called out as she stepped into her apartment late that night. "I don't know how I did it, but somehow I managed to sneak out early just….like….I….," her words suddenly trailed off as she took in the appearance of her apartment. It had been completely transformed. There were Halloween decorations everywhere, the only illumination in the room coming from the dozens of candles placed around the entire living space and the various strings of decorative lights Ryan had strung up. "What is all this," she finally managed to ask a widely grinning Ryan who was just standing back in the shadows watching her face as she observed the surprise he had set up for her.

"I guess I felt inspired," he responded casually, dismissing his own efforts. "For some reason, I was excited about Halloween for the first time in years. Maybe it's because it's our first holiday together as friends."

"Au contraire, my friend," Marissa teased him, walking around the apartment and looking at everything he had done while she talked. "I distinctly remember already being your friend on Columbus Day."

"You just had to spoil all my fun, didn't you," Ryan teased her, taking her by the hand and leading her to her bedroom as she laughed at his dramatics. "Now, while I get out your last surprise, I hid it so you wouldn't see anything, you need to change, take off this adorable costume, and put on something comfortable yet old so you won't care if you get it dirty."

"Wait," she protested, "why would I get dirty? What are we going to be doing?"

"If you don't go and change now and quit asking questions, I won't let you eat the food I made," Ryan threatened, laughing loudly as she was gone inside of the room before he could even finish. Shaking his head at her antics, he made his way into the kitchen where he hid her surprise, eagerly anticipating her reaction the entire time.

Five minutes later, Marissa emerged from her room, her hair thrown up in a ponytail while she wore a pair of baggy shorts and a long sleeved t-shirt. "Is it okay if I come out now, Ryan," she called to him, standing timidly outside of her door.

"We're all set," he answered.

Walking into the living area, she instantly saw what her surprise was. Ryan had newspapers spread out across the floor while several pumpkins and two knives were set aside. "It's not officially Halloween until you carve some pumpkins," he explained to her, moving towards the CD player. As soon as the music filled the air, she couldn't help but chuckle softly to herself.

"The Monster Mash," she shouted out in joy. All of a sudden, she felt like a kid again, capable of enjoying the simple things in life like a good piece of candy, a funny song, or carving a jack-o-lantern. "I haven't heard this song in forever," she added as she sat down on the floor and immediately reached for a pumpkin, crossing her legs Indian style and motioning for Ryan to join her. Moving her body towards his, she quickly placed a light, friendly kiss on his cheek before settling back down to begin carving. "Thank you for this. I'm not sure anyone has ever done anything this special for me before."

He didn't say a word in return, merely smiling at her before they both started working on their pumpkins. They didn't need to say anything else. Instead, they were just going to enjoy their night together. After all, you only got to celebrate your first Halloween with a new friend once.

Exhausted, Marissa had long since fallen asleep. They had been watching a movie together on her couch, Sleepy Hollow, Marissa's choice, when she had drifted off. After they had finished carving their pumpkins, they had lit them, blowing out all the other candles and turning off the decorative sets of lights so that only their spooky jack-o-lanterns illuminated the room. While they started the movie, they had eaten the food Ryan had made for them, but as time slipped by, he had noticed her eyelids getting heavy and eventually dropping completely shut; her body, in its sleepy state, cuddling into his. Again, just like the hug they had shared before, he knew it was wrong, but he couldn't help but wrap his arm around her and hold her close while she slept.

He had been unable to sleep though. Instead, he had gone over his life in his mind, silently pondering what he wanted and what he needed until he made a decision, one that would probably alter his life forever. Needing to act upon his decision right away less he changed his mind or lost his nerve, he carefully pulled his cell phone out of his pocket so as not to wake Marissa. Hitting the second number on his speed dial, he waited for the answering machine to pick up. He knew his boss wouldn't be in at this time of night….or morning really, but he wanted him to get the message as soon as he walked into the office.

"Hey, it's Ryan, Ryan Atwood," he began, his voice hushed so as not to disturb Marissa who was still asleep in his arms. "I'm calling to request a favor concerning work. If it would be possible to get a permanent assignment in Seattle, I'd really appreciate it, and, if not, I'd at least like to have first dibs on the all the stories there. As soon as you have an answer for me, I'll have my cell phone on so you can get in touch with me. And….if it's possible to keep this between you and me, I'd be really grateful, because this request is for personal reasons. Thanks and I hope to hear from you soon."

Flipping his phone shut, he set is aside on the coffee table before leaning back into the couch, pulling Marissa close once again, and fell asleep within minutes, for the moment, content.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"Listen, I have to leave soon," Theresa spoke loudly over the constant, deafening drone of the vacuum cleaner her husband was using. "The bakery is swamped, and, to make matters worse, one of my girls called off this morning, so I'll have to cover her shift."

Turning the sweeper off, Ryan looked up at her, annoyance written clearly across his countenance. "Well who's going to finish getting the house ready for this ridiculous dinner you insisted we throw tomorrow if you're not here? I told you I'd help for a couple of hours, but that time's up. I have things to do."

"What could you have to do," Theresa dismissed him. "You're off for the holiday for the first time in years, so I wanted to take advantage of that and celebrate Thanksgiving with everyone I care about, and that includes you. That's why I'm throwing this dinner tomorrow, and, because you're my husband and you love me, you're going to get all the cleaning done for me, right?" She pouted her lips carefully, being sure to manipulate him through his guilt. It was the easiest way to get Ryan to do something for her.

"Whatever, Theresa," he disregarded her, his characteristically uncaring voice barely able to conceal how livid he was. "When you put it like that, it's pretty hard to say no, isn't it, but perhaps now you'll realize why I don't come home that much. It's not like I get to relax or rewind when I'm here. It's Ryan do this or Ryan do that…"

His voice faded off as he went into his office. The vacuum he had just been using remained turned off in the middle of the living room as he just ignored her protests behind him until her words were too loud to block out. Following him into his study, she finally regained his attention. "Do you think I just sit around all the time and do nothing when you're gone, Ryan," she asked him, equally as angry. "No, I not only run my own successful business, but I take care of this house….your house, our house, and make sure that you always have a clean place with clean clothes and good food waiting for you when you decide to grace me with your presence maybe once a month."

"You're the one always complaining that we never spend time together, Theresa," he pointed out with a faintly hostile tone to his voice, "but then, when I do actually decide to come home, as you pointed out, I have to get the house ready for a dinner with all your friends…people I don't even like. Do you even consider what I'd like to do for Thanksgiving before you plan these elaborate dinner parties?"

"I started making these plans months ago, Ryan," she argued, frustrated. "I'm not going to do this; I'm not going to argue with you about something that can't be changed now. I'm late; I need to get going. Are you going to do all the chores for me or not?" When he did nothing but turn his back on her, she walked out of the room in a huff, pausing outside of the doorway when she suddenly heard the noises of quick movement. For a moment, a brief, reassuring, beautiful moment she thought he was coming after her, that he would take her in his arms, kiss and hug her, apologize for being so cold, for always being away from her, for making his work his first priority, but as soon as she heard the tone of his voice, she knew her hopes were unrealistic.

"Hey," she heard her husband's voice greet someone over the phone. He never used that soft, caring tone when he spoke to her; he was always dismissive and short with her…his wife. "I needed a break….from cleaning, Theresa's idea of quality time, I guess," she heard him complain.

_Great, Ryan, just great_, Theresa mused to herself, frustrated and tired. _Run to one of your buddies and complain about how big of a bitch your wife is. That's really going to improve our relationship! _Balling her fists in aggravation, she walked away from his office door and continued down the hall which took her to the kitchen, to her purse and keys, and to the backdoor that would let her escape the reality of her unsuccessful marriage in the success of her career. It seemed as if her bakery was the only place that offered her any solace. There, she could run away from her problems into her work, lose herself in donuts, cakes, cookies, and bagels, hide from her own issues in those of her employees, cover the mess her life was becoming behind a smile and kind word to her customers. If only she knew her weakness and inability to face her marital woes was the very thing enabling her husband to further distance himself from her.

Ryan heard the back door slam and realized his wife was gone, that he was free to do and say what he wanted to while on the phone. Surprising her, he blurted out, "do you have any idea how much I've missed you these last few weeks."

Marissa laughed. "Feeling's mutual, and I was going to invite you to have Thanksgiving dinner here with Caity and I…though it's never a very traditional meal since neither of us can cook….but you're off this week, so I knew you wouldn't be covering the game. However," she continued, unable to help herself, "if something happens….either someone calls off and you end up having to cover the game or even if you need a break from your wife, we'll set an extra plate for you."

"And Caitlyn wouldn't mind me crashing your family weekend?"

"Oh please," Marissa excused his concerns, "she's been dying to meet the first real friend I've had in years, especially after I told her how we met."

Shocked, Ryan asked her, "you told her about the plane?"

"Well," she hedged, "not the entire story, just enough to show her how easily we connected. Some of what happened on that flight will always remain between you and me. It's too personal….too special to share." He could tell by the soft, shy quality of her voice that she was blushing. Knowing not only that they couldn't go there, couldn't discuss something that could never happen again but also that the memory of their one and only kiss could elicit such response from her, Ryan changed the subject.

"So what does a Cooper girls' Thanksgiving ensue," he quizzed her, curious and interested. "It has to be more entertaining than a formal dinner party where the men where suits and women dresses and I have to suffer through countless hours of small talk with people I really don't like or know that well."

"It is," Marissa reassured him, giggling at his dejected view of the holiday. "We sleep in until the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade starts, watch it while making fun of everyone who messes up, and eat donuts until we fall asleep again stuffed. After we wake up from our nap, we eat our favorite foods and just talk about anything and everything we can think of. Finally, that night, we have a special, Thanksgiving tradition, but I can't tell you about that. Only those who experience a Cooper girls' Thanksgiving, as you called it, get to know about that secret."

"I'll have to remember that for the future," Ryan commented, a smile flashing across his face at her adorable manner. "But listen, I hate to do this, but I've got to go. I know this was a quick phone call, but if you could see the list of chores Theresa left me to do…."

"No, that's okay," she shrugged off his concerns. "I understand, and, besides, I need to get ready to pick Caitlyn up from the airport anyway. Her plane gets in soon."

"Well tell her I said Happy Thanksgiving."

"I will," Marissa returned to him. "As for your cleaning, just do what I do. Put in your favorite CD, crank the music, and sing along with it while you clean."

"That's very Mrs. Doubtfire of you," Ryan responded, laughing along with her giggles.

"I am SO NOT letting you live that one down," Marissa teased, "but, anyway, like I said, if things get too miserable there, you're always welcome here. Talk to you soon, Ryan. Happy Thanksgiving."

"Happy Thanksgiving," he returned, his smile fading as he heard her phone click off. Sighing, he put his cell phone back in his pocket and walked out of the study only to return moments later.

He had not gotten the transfer to the Seattle market he had asked for the month before. There just weren't enough sporting events there to warrant a full time reporter assigned to the city, but his boss had granted his wish that whenever a job did become available there, Ryan would get it. Unfortunately, he was also a senior staff member, so he had holidays off, giving him no excuse to travel away from his wife for Thanksgiving. Throwing caution and propriety to the wind, he picked up the house phone and made another call. "Yes, I'd like to book passage on your next flight to Seattle, please." He would do what Theresa had asked; he would clean the house from top to bottom, but, when she returned to find the chores complete, he would not be there. After all, it was a holiday, he was off, and it was time he actually got to enjoy it, and that meant, spending the day away from his wife and in someone's company he actually enjoyed: Marissa's.

"Caity, can you get that," Marissa's voice called from the bathroom as she heard the doorbell ring late that morning.

"Sure," Caitlyn called out, climbing off the couch and walking with her head over her shoulder so she could continue watching the parade, "but I didn't realize you'd already ordered the take out. What, don't I get a say this year? Besides, we still have donuts."

Marissa, who was just getting out of the shower, was completely oblivious to her sister's questions, so she never answered. As Caitlyn pulled the door open, her interest still being held by the TV, she merely pointed towards the kitchen and waved her hand dismissively. "Just put the food down on the counter. Money should be waiting for you."

"I don't have any food," the male voice responded, chuckling, "and I had been under the impression that it would be provided for me if I came for dinner."

That got Caitlyn's attention.

"You're not the delivery guy."

"Last time I checked, no I wasn't," Ryan returned. "You must be Caitlyn. I'm Ryan….Marissa's friend."

Sticking her hand out to shake his, Caitlyn's face and tone of voice displayed her confusion. "Hi." For a moment, her hand still clutching his as she greeted him, she studied his face. "You're not gay," she finally blurted out, so embarrassed by what she said, she immediately withdrew her hand and slapped it over her mouth.

"No, I'm not," Ryan answered her, bewildered. "Why would you think that I was….did Marissa tell you I was?"

"What," Caitlyn asked, stumbling over her words, "oh, no, I just assumed you were. I mean, why would a guy who was in his late 20's, same age as my sister, who had instant rapport and chemistry with her not try to date her. I mean, have you seen my sister? So, because she insisted your relationship is and always will be platonic, I just assumed you were….gay."

"We're just friends," Ryan told her, "because I'm married."

Interrupting them and distracting Ryan from noticing Caitlyn's thoughtful and worried facial expression, Marissa emerged from the bathroom, walking down the hallway totally oblivious as to who had just arrived. "Who was at the door, Caitlyn," she pondered out loud. Dressed simply in a pair of track pants and a tank top, she was drying her hair by hand with a towel as she entered the living area. As soon as she saw Ryan though, the towel fell from her hands and she flew across the room, jumping into his arms and hugging him as tightly has she could. "I can't believe this," she exclaimed. "You came. You get to meet my sister and spend Thanksgiving with us…..right," she asked as she finally let go of him, pulling away, slightly worried. "I mean, you're not here just to work, right?"

"Nope, you can't get rid of me that easily. I'm here all weekend if you want me."

"I always want you," Marissa responded, her eyes growing wide with embarrassment as she realized how suggestive her statement was. Their eyes locked together, Caitlyn's presence completely forgotten, she continued. "I mean, I always want to spend time with you; you're always welcome here, you know that." Finally, to break the spell her sister seemingly was under, Caitlyn cleared her throat, only serving to further embarrass Marissa. "So, I take it you two have already met," she asked, motioning between her sister and Ryan.

"Yeah," Ryan acknowledged, "she thought I was the delivery guy. When you told me about your Thanksgiving traditions, you just said that you ate your favorite foods. You never said they were take-out."

"Well what else would we eat," Caitlyn finally rejoined the conversation. "I sure as hell don't know how to cook, and, if Marissa was in charge of cooking the meal, we'd end up with burnt cinnamon rolls."

"Hey," Marissa argued with her, "you can ask, Ryan. The last time I made those, they turned out perfect."

"That's because I was supervising," Ryan teased her, smirking at the rolling of her eyes. "But I see how it is. Your true motives for inviting me have become abundantly clear." Confused, Marissa just looked at him waiting for him to expand upon his statement. "You invited me up here for Thanksgiving hoping I would take pity upon you and your kitchen clueless sister and make you a proper, homemade dinner."

"Wait a second," Caitlyn interrupted him, "are you insinuating that you can cook?"

"My skills in the kitchen are passable," Ryan offered, smiling at her enthusiasm. "I might not be a professional chef, but I can put together a basic, Thanksgiving dinner. The only problem is going to be I doubt your sister here has any of the ingredients or supplies I'll need in her kitchen."

"Guilty as charged," Marissa conceded, laughing, "but there is a little market open a few blocks away."

"Alright," Ryan agreed, "I'll go to the store and pick up what I'll need to cook dinner, but you two are in charge of setting the table."

"Yes, sir," Caitlyn mock saluted, eliciting an amused smirk from Ryan and giggles from Marissa.

"Are we allowed to wear out pajamas or are you going to make us change into formal clothes," Marissa taunted Ryan. "Are you going to be a cool cook or demanding and stuffy like Theresa?"

"Pajamas are fine," Ryan responded, reaching in to give Marissa's cheek a friendly kiss. His actions caused her smile out of surprise but just made Caitlyn scowl in concern. "I'll be back in thirty minutes, tops," he promised, moving towards the door, "but while I'm gone, you two better not ruin your dinner by eating more of those donuts." Motioning to the half empty box of pastries in front of the couch, he laughed at Marissa's pout, closing the door behind him, leaving the sisters to their privacy.

"Go ahead and say it," Marissa demanded, turning towards her sister. "If you don't think I recognize the disapproving look upon your face, you're wrong."

"What are you doing, Marissa," Caitlyn asked, staring her sister down. "He's a married man. I assume Theresa is his wife's name." Marissa's hardened glare and flashing eyes at the sound of Theresa's name were the only answers Caitlyn needed. "There's more to the story about how you guys met, isn't there?"

"Yes, there is," Marissa acknowledged, "but it's none of your business. You're my little sister, and I love you, but there are some things that even you don't get to know about me."

"And what about, Ryan," Caitlyn pushed. "Does he get to know everything about you?"

"He knows what he needs to know."

"What about his wife," the younger woman persisted. "How much does she know about you? Do you think she even knows of your existence? Does she know that her husband is spending his Thanksgiving with you instead of her?"

"I don't know what Theresa knows about me," Marissa responded tartly. "Ryan's marriage is his personal business just as I have my own secrets."

"So I take it Ryan doesn't know about your job," Caitlyn deduced. "If he was really just your friend, Marissa, that wouldn't matter. A friend, someone who had no romantic feelings for you and whom you had no romantic feelings for, would not care that you're a…."

"Just stop it, Caitlyn, stop it," Marissa exploded. "Listen, I get what you're staying, and I understand why you're concerned…"

"You're damn right, I'm concerned," Caitlyn interrupted her. "You're my sister. It's my job to protect you, to stop you from doing stupid things. Continuing down this path you're taking with Ryan is stupid."

Sighing in frustration, Marissa turned away from Caitlyn. "I can't do that; I can't walk away from him." Her voice was low, reflective, one could even say slightly haunted in tone. "I know that we're probably blurring lines, that there are feelings and emotions present in our relationship that shouldn't be there, but I need him in my life." Turning around, she once again locked eyes with her sister. "Don't you get it," she asked her. "He's the first person I've ever felt this kind of a connection with, and if I have to hold myself back and just be his friend to keep that feeling with me, I'll do it. I don't care how much it hurts; it would hurt worse not to have Ryan in my life."

"And you have no hope of him leaving his wife for you?" Marissa merely shrugged her shoulders, helplessly, showing that she did but was not ready to confess said hopes. "I thought so." Taking the older woman by the hand, Caitlyn led her over to the couch and sat down beside her. "How long have they been married?"

"Eleven years," Marissa answered, her voice a painful whisper. "They were married young, when they were sixteen. He doesn't love her…not like a man should love his wife. He never has."

Needing to know more information, Caitlyn kept asking questions. "And how do you feel for him? How does he feel about you?"

"I….I care about him," Marissa answered truthfully. "I won't lie and say that those feelings couldn't develop into something more, but I won't let them. As for what Ryan feels," she paused to scrub her forehead in a distracted manner, "I'm not sure. I know he cares, too, but there are moments….."

"Moments when you realize that his feelings for you could develop into something more, too…if they haven't already?"

"I guess," the older sister admitted, letting a lone tear escape from her blazing, blue eyes.

"I just have one more question for you, but it's an important one," Caitlyn said. "If he doesn't love his wife and he's falling in love with you, why is he still married to her? Why doesn't he leave her, get a divorce?"

Shrugging her shoulders helplessly, Marissa answered, "he cares about her. Ryan's a nice guy, Caity, the nicest guy I've ever met. He doesn't want to hurt someone who's been in his life for so long. He promised to stay with her forever. It's hard to break that promise, to turn your back on more than eleven years of your life and start over again."

Standing up, Caitlyn moved her way towards the hallway and bathroom to take her shower. "Not if it's what you really want," she pointed out not unkindly. "Not if you're strong enough, like you are or I am, to make that decision and go after what you want in life. If you were the one who was unhappily married and had the opportunity to really be with someone you loved and who loved you back, would you stay in that relationship? Think about that," Caitlyn said as she finally left the room, leaving her sister upset and with a mind full of too many questions that had either no answer or the wrong one.

After her conversation with Marissa, Caitlyn had just sat back, occasionally entering the conversation when asked to, but mainly just observing her sister with the man she knew she was falling in love with. At first, Marissa had been awkward towards him; Caitlyn knew her questions and comments were plaguing her sister's mind, but eventually, her heart had won out, and she and Ryan had spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening, playfully flirting back and forth, making dinner together while Caitlyn watched television and listened into their banter and noticed their secret glances during the meal and the playful way they argued back and forth….just like a couple. It scared her to see her sister like that, so vulnerable to a man who was married and unavailable, but she had spoken her peace. Marissa was a grown woman; hell, she had raised her. Other than offering her advice and opinion, there was nothing about the situation that she could do except be there to support her sister in whatever decisions she made, to either stand by her in love or comfort her in pain. No matter what happened with Ryan or any man for that matter, it would always be the two Cooper girls against the world.

Dinner was over though, and the three of them had settled into the living room, Caitlyn sitting alone in an arm chair while Ryan and Marissa shared the couch, leaving a respectable distance between them. While she had been lost to her own chaotic thoughts, they had been bickering over the television.

"I think that the chef, as a reward for his hard work and delicious meal, should pick what we watch, and this chef would like to see the sports highlights. I was attentive and patient all day long, ignoring the games and allowing Caitlyn, since she seemed less than interested in what we were talking about, to control the remote, but now, I need to see who won."

"I understand that, I do," Marissa assured him, slyly reaching for the remote, "but, you see, if I let you watch Sportscenter, you'll ruin our secret, traditional ending to Thanksgiving. You do want to know what it is, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Ryan returned, playfully, grabbing the remote from her hands in the process, their bodies inching closer together with every movement, "and as soon as I see the scores, the TV is all yours."

Pouting, Marissa turned to him. "But you know how tired I get, how I fall asleep whenever we try to stay up late, so why don't you let you me watch what I want to, and then, after Caity and I both fall asleep, you can watch Sportscenter hour after hour until your little heart's content."

"Tell me what I'll be agreeing to watch first."

"I can't do that," Marissa argued, pushing him playfully away from her only to, unconsciously, scoot her own body closer. "It would ruin the surprise."

"If I give in though," Ryan pointed out, holding the remote just out of her reach, "what do I get out of the situation?"

"My never ending gratitude," Marissa answered, giggling at his disbelieving expression.

"I have a better idea," he suggested, "in exchange for control over the television tonight, I get to sleep in your bed."

That got Caitlyn's attention. Sitting up straight, she turned to look at her sister who was just sitting there, staring at Ryan, stunned speechless.

"No, no, no," he finally realized the mistake he made and moved to correct it. "I meant that because Caitlyn would automatically get possession of the guest bed, if you wanted to pick what we watch on TV, you'd have to give up your bed, let me sleep there, ALONE, while you slept out on the couch. I didn't mean," Ryan stumbled, his ears growing red, "obviously…we wouldn't, you know….um….just, here," he conceded, handing her the remote. "I give in; you win."

"Uh, thanks," Marissa mumbled, still unsure of what to say or do in the situation they were faced with. Standing up, she moved towards the television, and put a movie in the DVD player. Caitlyn noticed that when she sat back down, she was as far away from Ryan as she could be. Five minutes later though, as the credits had just finished being shown, Ryan had, once again, scooted his body next to her sister's.

Eavesdropping she heard him whisper, "I'm sorry. I never meant to make you feel uncomfortable, honestly, Marissa."

"It's okay," Caitlyn heard her sister whisper back. "But, just to let you know, there is no guest bed. Caity always sleeps in my room, while I take the couch. You can have it though, and I'll just make myself a bed on the floor."

"I'll take the floor," Ryan replied without a second though, reaching to take hold of Marissa's hand, but Caitlyn noticed her pull away from his touch. "Hey, you okay," he asked her, reaching up to turn her face towards his and away from the TV. "We're okay, right?"

Smiling at his concern, Marissa nodded her head, reaching her hand out and taking his in hers. Caitlyn winced at the sight, knowing that platonic friends did not hold hands during a movie in a dark living room. As the movie finally started, Ryan turned towards the TV and exclaimed loudly, "The Nutcracker, we're seriously watching The Nutcracker? Did you secretly hate my dinner or something and this is my payback?"

Before Marissa could respond, Caitlyn cut her off. "What, didn't you know that my sister loves this, Ryan? I figured, what with you two being such good friends, that this had come up sometime during one of your conversations. Plus, it makes sense, you know, because she loves to dance so much, but you already knew that, right?"

Marissa glared at her sister, knowing exactly what she was insinuating with her seemingly innocent questions.

"I didn't know that, Caitlyn" Ryan answered before turning to Marissa, "but that's something I would like to see, you dancing. I bet you're amazing." Reaching across the couch, Ryan picked up a throw blanket that had been tossed to one side, using it to cover up both he and Marissa. "I'll have to get you to take me out dancing, in a skirt, the next time you get back from vacation," Ryan teased her, his voice low and husky, making Marissa blush and laugh despite her best efforts. Noticing her sister's questioning gaze, she turned back to television.

"Yeah, we'll see about that," she dismissed Ryan's idea, "but stop talking. I don't want to miss any of this."

"Then neither do I," Ryan agreed with her, sending Caitlyn a glance before putting his arm around Marissa and pulling her to him to watch the movie together. _After all_, he thought to himself as the feeling of Marissa pressed up against his side lulled him into a sense of peace he hadn't felt since Halloween, _there's nothing wrong with friends giving each other a hug…a really long hug._ Somewhere during the movie, he faintly realized that Caitlyn had gotten up and left the room, her loud, angry stomps down the hallway telling him she was upset and mad, but he didn't care. It was Thanksgiving, a holiday, and he was spending it with his best friend….with Marissa. Not even her sister's disapproval of their _friendship_ could lessen the joy he felt at that moment. For once, all his concerns were gone, Theresa, his marriage, his unhappiness; for once, he was living in the moment. Closing his eyes, _just for a second_, he had promised himself, he took in the sweet, comforting scent of Marissa's shampoo, burying his face in her loose, wavy hair, falling into a deep, dream filled slumber with the object of his fantasies held tightly in his arms. _Best Thanksgiving Ever_, he realized to himself. It was the last coherent thought he would have until morning.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

_Why were stores so big? Why did they have signs everywhere pointing to 'the one gift that would make her love you'? Why was it so damn hard to pick out a present for the one person you cared the most for in the whole world? _

It was useless. Ryan was trapped inside of a department store, millions of purchasable items in front of him, but he couldn't pick just one to give to her. _Perhaps because you know this gift actually matters,_ his mind taunted him. It seemed to do that more and more these days, never giving him a moment's peace. _Maybe because you care what she thinks about it._ And that was the problem. What were you supposed to get a woman that you cared about, desired yet couldn't do anything about the attraction, that you wanted to show just how important they were to you….when you were married, married to another woman you found yourself liking less and less as each day passed by.

So he wandered, aimlessly, up and down the aisles, in and out of the holiday inspired displays, the red, gold, and silver blinding him. It seemed as if the more things he passed, the more confused he got. Sure, if their relationship was simpler, he could have fun with this shopping excursion. When he had passed the lingerie section, barely ten minutes after he had gotten to the store, he literally had stopped dead in his footsteps. He didn't even have to see the individual pieces; after all, he was a man, a man quite capable of imagining his own forms of pleasant torture. Images, blissfully erotic images of Marissa dressed in only a piece of lingerie he had purchased for her had taken over his body to such an extent that he knew he had caused people to stare at the far-off, lost, dreamy expression on his face, the gloss of yearning that covered his shining, blue eyes, but he hadn't cared. It had literally taken him every ounce of mental strength he had not to purchase something from that oh-so-tempting department, to walk away, and to avoid it while he continued to meander around the store.

Two hours later, he still had no idea what he was going to get her. No, take that back, he did have one idea, but it was a joke, so it didn't count. He was still looking for the gift that mattered, the gift that would express what he felt for her but not confuse the lines they had formed in their relationship.

Breaking him out of his own, silent thoughts, a quiet, somewhat hesitant voice startled him. "Excuse me, sir," she began slowly as Ryan turned around to see who was addressing him. It was a small, petite, kind-eyed older woman, perhaps in her late fifties or early sixties. "I couldn't help but notice that you seemed to be Would you like some help?"

Smiling at her, Ryan responded, "thank you, but I really don't even know where to start. I couldn't even give you an idea of what I was looking for."

"Well, that's why I'm here, to help you," she dismissed his concerns. "I have a feeling you might be approaching this in the wrong way. Instead of just trying to instantly think of the perfect present, you need to slowly build to your answer." His puzzled expression made her merrily laugh before she continued, guiding him out of the crowded aisle into a less-trafficked part of the store. "How about I ask you a few, innocent, easy questions, and that will get us started. Does that sound alright to you?"

"I'm in no position, at this point, not to try it," Ryan replied, self-deprecatingly.

"Okay then," the cheerful saleswoman said, "answer me this: are you buying this puzzling gift for a woman or a man?"

"Woman."

"Well there, you see," she pointed out, "we've already narrowed down 50 of everything in the store." Ryan couldn't help but laugh at her logic. "Now, the second question, and this will tell me a lot, do you love this woman?"

He paused, unsure of what to say. _I thought she said these questions would be simple_, he complained silently to himself.

Nervously, his eyes shifted away from the older woman trying to help him, but she seemed to accept this. Patiently, she just waited, watching his conflicted eyes dart back and forth as he worked out the answer to her question. Unknown to Ryan, this was not her first time helping a confused man shop. She had been doing this, her job, since she was eighteen years old. She wasn't called the Holiday Angel for nothing; she didn't have regular customers who returned year after year for her help because she did not know what she doing. She was ingrained with an instinctual knowledge of men and women, relationships, and what gifts would say about each, individual, unique relationship she helped someone buy a present for. Finally, he answered her.

"Yeah….yes, I do love her."

"Just as I thought," she confessed, flashing him an all-knowing smile before walking away towards another department of the store. Without even having to ask or motion for him, he followed. "You never would have taken so long to answer if you didn't love this woman, but obviously, and you do not need to tell me anything, your relationship with her is complicated. So we'll find a gift that respects the delicate intricacies of your bond." Turning around, she saw the bewildered expression on Ryan's face and, once again, laughed softly to herself. "Why don't you tell me some things about her, either describing her personality or an amusing anecdote that we can find inspiration from."

"She'd kill me for you telling you this, but the day we met," Ryan began, his mind and heart already feeling lighter as his memories took him over, ceasing the constant worry and concern that seemed to always be with him whenever he wasn't with her, whenever he wasn't with Marissa.

"Ryan," a determined and stubborn Theresa marched into her husband's office two weeks before Christmas, "we need to talk."

Looking up from his desk, Ryan focused his eyes on her face, his cool, unfeeling, indifferent eyes. He had been working and was annoyed with her interruption but thankful that it hadn't come ten minutes earlier when he had been doing something else….wrapping Marissa's presents. _That would have been interesting to explain when she opened something from a completely different sized box_, he laughed to himself. Returning his mental attention back to his wife, he merely looked at her waiting for her to continue, but when she didn't say anything, he became impatient.

"The point of having a talk is for words to actually be spoken," he bit out sarcastically. It was impossible not to hear the slight edge of contempt in his voice. "If you want to say something, say it and say it quick, so you can stop wasting both of our times."

"Fine," she agreed with him, crossing her arms over her chest, "if you want to play this like that, I am quite capable of being rude to you as well." Taking a deep breath, she plunged into the topic she wanted to discuss. "I'm sick and tired of you just showing up when you want to. Whether or not you have forgotten this little fact, I am your wife, so that means what I want counts in this marriage, too. That said, I expect you to be here for every event during the holidays, that means you will attend Christmas Eve mass with me, you'll sleep here Christmas Eve and wake up here the next morning to have your breakfast, lunch, and dinner in this house, we'll open up our presents together, you will go shopping with me the next day and carry my bags for me like a good little husband should, you'll spend New Years Eve with me however I want to, and, finally, you'll also spend all of New Years Day with me, too." Narrowing her eyes, she pushed on. "There is no arguing with me on this, Ryan. You either do what I want or I'll be forced to demand that we go to marriage counseling. I can't live like this anymore."

"I've already asked for a local assignment those two weeks," he dismissed her concerns, turning back to his computer. "Between the various events and dinners you'll be dragging me to, I'll be conducting interviews and doing prep work for the bowl games. I will, however, be leaving for a week tomorrow. There was no reason to threaten counseling, Theresa; you were already getting what you wanted. Way to show your cards early though. Might want to work on your new strategy for the next, inevitable showdown we have."

"Oh," she whispered, utterly surprised and rendered speechless.

"This room has suddenly become rather stuffy," Ryan told her curtly, standing up and moving towards the door where he walked past her, careful that their bodies would not touch at all. "I think I need some fresh air. If you need to issue any other ultimatums, I'll be outside, hanging up those hideous Christmas decorations you insist upon every year."

Walking out the room, he left a bewildered Theresa behind him. Although she had essentially gotten what she wanted, it somehow felt as if she had lost that battle anyway. Why that was so puzzled her. Perhaps if she had seen her husband slip his cell phone into his pocket as he went outside, she would have become more suspicious of his actions, but she hadn't. So, with a heavy heart, she returned to the kitchen and her work preparing her list of things she would have to buy to make this Christmas special, to make her husband fall back in love her. Little did she know, he had never had felt that way for her.

The lights were all turned off; the only illumination in the entire apartment came from the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree and the leaping, hypnotizing flames of the fire in the fireplace. The two lone people were silent, merely staring at each other; their eyes capable of expressing everything they wanted to say but couldn't. The presents, few in number, were resting beside them, wrapped and ready to be exchanged. The empty boxes of food and dirty dishes pushed aside, into the shadows, where they could be forgotten and ignored. Finally, breaking through the relative quiet of the room, the sparks of a falling log or a rare, faraway sound of a car horn down on the streets the only other noises invading their private oasis of holiday bliss, the man spoke up, his voice and words immediately bringing a smile to the woman's face.

"Although I still find it hard to believe that we just ate pizza and ice cream sundaes for our Christmas dinner," Ryan teased Marissa, "what I can't believe even more is that I was foolish enough to leave you in charge of the meal. I figured you'd at least buy some of the traditional staples."

"And where would the fun be in that," she chided him. "Besides, I saw how much you ate. You cannot tell me you didn't like it."

"That's beside the point," he dismissed her argument. "It's just not….Christmas until you have all the proper trimmings."

"I beg to differ. For the first sixteen years of my life," Marissa explained, "I had that type of Christmas. Not a decoration was out of place, we would have the traditional meals and parties, the presents were always top of the line and there were so many of them, it would take us hours to open all of them, but it was all taken for granted and never made us happy. Then my life changed, and for the first Christmas we were on our own, Caitlyn and I were living in a shelter. We went to a soup kitchen for our dinner on Christmas Eve, spent the rest of the night in a church, because it was warm and peaceful, just talking, and the next day we went to the park and played in the snow together for hours. There were no presents, no new dresses, no parties, but we had fun. Ever since that Christmas, those trimmings you mentioned haven't mattered to Caity and I. For us, it's all about spending the holidays with the people you love and care about, about celebrating life, about enjoying the company of those around you, and about making someone else smile." When Ryan went to talk, when he went to offer his opinion, she stopped him, speaking again. "Wait, don't say anything. I have a challenge for you. I want you to just experience this celebration that we're having together. Don't question it, don't analyze it, don't even think….just feel, and then compare it to the one you have later with Theresa, and then tell me which one you preferred. You'll see; I'm right."

"You seem pretty confident."

"It has nothing to do with confidence. I know what I'm talking about, and I know you, but this is not fun." Smiling excitedly, her eyes moved towards the presents. "I want you to open your gifts. One though, we have to go on the roof for."

"It's freezing outside," Ryan complained.

"You are such a baby!" Handing him his first present, a large box that felt fairly heavy, he opened it quickly to reveal that she had gotten him an assortment of warm clothes. "I realize that you have no use for them at home, but, since you're going to be here off and on all winter, and I like to go outside, I figured I better buy you some clothes so you wouldn't complain about the cold. Now, put something on….I don't care what, and let's go outside." She went to stand up, but his hand grabbing hers and pulling her back down into a sitting position stopped her.

"We're not going anywhere until you open your presents, too."

"But, I want to show you…."

"No buts," he argued with her, his eyes twinkling. "Now, do you want your serious present first or the funny one?"

"Serious."

"Alright, wait right there," he instructed her, standing up and moving towards his bags which were behind the couch. "It would have been stupid for me to travel up here with the real thing, so this is just a picture of what I got you. The real gift is on hold, paid for, at the branch of the store here." Sitting back down across from her, he handed her a small, rectangular, wrapped present, about the size of a calendar. "This is just the cardboard advertisement," he explained. Curious, she ripped the paper off quickly, reminding Ryan of a little kid and not a 27 year old woman.

"You got me a luggage set," she exclaimed, surprised. The bewildered expression on her face made him laugh. "Not that I don't like it," she continued, "but I don't understand…."

"Well, there's no way I could have you traveling to Columbus next week to see Caitlyn, knowing that you'd probably end up flying home panty-less again. The last time you did that you ended up with a friend/part time house guest, and, although your apartment is the perfect size for the two of us, I don't think it's big enough for you and two men who would occasionally stay with you. Besides," he added, "I really don't feel like sharing my best friend. The second part to this gift," he continued, "is that, before I leave tomorrow night, I'm going to help you pack, make sure you fill that suitcase properly, and I will continue you help you pack, whether in person or by phone, until you learn how to do it correctly yourself."

"How is this not my funny present," she asked him doubtfully, trying in vain to hold in her giggles.

"Because you'll actually use this, but the other gift….I doubt it."

Taking the second present he held out to her from him, she opened it less quickly, somewhat warily. "You have no idea how scared I am right now," Marissa confessed, slowly pulling the tissue paper away from the item underneath it only to start laughing hysterically. Pulling the gift out of its box, she just kept laughing as she looked up and down the one-piece, childlike, pink fleece set of pajamas that zipped from her feet to her neck.

"I couldn't resist," he revealed. "The idea of you actually wearing these Christmas Eve and letting Caitlyn see you in them….let's just say that it made me laugh so hard, the other shoppers were sending angry glares in my direction."

"Is that a dare, Mr. Atwood, because, I'll have you know, I've never been able to turn one down."

Ryan grinned out of surprise and pleasure. "First of all," he taunted her, "the fact that you can't turn down a dare is something that I'll definitely have to keep in mind." Noticing the mischievous glint in his eyes, Marissa merely rolled hers at him. "As for the pajamas," he pushed on, "sure, you can take that as a dare, but I'll need visual proof."

"Well then, if I were you," she said confidently, "I'd be checking my email Christmas morning, because there will be a message waiting for you with a picture of me in those pink, ridiculously cheesy pajamas as soon as your lazy ass crawls out of bed. Before he could respond, she jumped up and ran towards the door, grabbing her coat off the hook in the process.

"Wait," he followed her, "don't you want something out of this, some kind of reward if you actually come through on the bet?"

"Sure, if you want to," she answered him, "just surprise me." And with that, their conversation was apparently over, because she seized his hand, pulling him out the door with her before he even had a chance to slip on one of the warm shirts she had bought him, immediately heading for the stairwell that would take them to the roof.

"This," Marissa explained once they were standing on the roof in front of a wooden structure which, at that moment, looked like a compost pile, "is our pumpkin patch." When he merely looked at her confused, she continued. "After the pumpkins we carved got old, I got the idea that we needed to raise our own pumpkins like you did all those years ago. These were special to me….to us, and I wanted to have a reminder of them for years to come. So, I built this little gardening plot, albeit smashing one of my fingers and making a mess of the job, and dumped the old pumpkins here. Every time I have some kind of natural garbage, I bring it up here and dump it on them for fertilizer, and some of the neighbors that I get along with bring their foot scraps up here, too. By the time Halloween comes next year, we'll have enough pumpkins, hopefully, to carve a new batch and hand them out to the kids that live in the building with me." Sighing, she pressed, "I know that it's not a very traditional gift, that's it corny, and weird, but it just….it felt right, and I thought that if anyone would…."

But that was as far as she got before Ryan cut her off, his voice hitching slightly with emotion. "No," he stopped her, "this…what you did for me, building this with your own two hands, this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I have no idea what to say….except thank you." Turning to her, he took her hands in his and looked directly into her eyes, repeating what he had just said as earnestly as he could. "Thank you!"

"You don't have to say anything," she told him honestly, smiling out of simple joy and pleasure that she had apparently been able to make him that happy. "Just promise me that you'll be here next year, that I'll have my best friend beside me when it comes time to harvest our pumpkins."

"I wouldn't be anywhere else," he replied, sincerely, retuning her smile.

Whispering, she confessed, "that's all I needed to hear," before pulling him back towards the door that would take them back downstairs to her apartment, "but for now, I'm exhausted and want to go to bed."

"I'll get the couch ready," he offered. "Since you're so tired, just go right on into bed."

"No," she argued with him, "we're responsible, moral adults. I think we could handle sleeping in the same bed platonically, Ryan. I'm not going to make you sleep on the couch."

In response, he merely shook his head to show his agreement. _After all,_ Ryan mused to himself, _who am I to argue with her. I'm her guest. It would be…rude to turn down her generosity_. With his conscious calmed, they reentered the apartment and silently made their way back to her bedroom. Picking up his bag on their way past the couch, neither said a word as she continued to lead him, as if saying something would ruin the moment. He was too afraid she would change her mind; she was nervous about what they were about to do.

They had gone their separate ways once they had made it into her bedroom, Ryan going to the bathroom to get changed for bed and Marissa undressing in her room. Once he was finished, clad in a simple pair of pajama pants and wife beater, he rejoined her, but, as he was hesitantly climbing into her bed, she excused herself, speaking so softly he had a hard time hearing her, to wash her face and brush her teeth. After she had reappeared, the lights had been turned off, and she had climbed into bed beside him, careful to keep as much distance between their two bodies. Despite everything, he couldn't help but notice how adorable she looked. Dressed simply in a pair of short shorts and a big, thick sweatshirt, her hair loose and cascading down her back, she looked, for all the world, like an innocent little girl, someone who needed to be sheltered from the cruelties of society and taken care of, a job he wouldn't mind having.

But appearances were deceiving. Between the two of them, she was the stronger, more self-sufficient, confident one. Her life was not perfect, and she was still trying to reach her dreams, but she knew what she wanted and she went after it no matter who or what stood in her way while, at the same time, doing so with grace, compassion, and dignity. True, Ryan had technically been on his own since he was sixteen and married, but Theresa had been their emotional rock while they were together, her mother helping to support them before and after her death. If their situations had been reversed, neither of them would have had the same lives. Ryan, in Marissa's shoes, would have ended up on the streets or in foster care, never capable of caring for a younger sibling; Marissa, in Ryan's shoes, would never have gotten married at age sixteen, but, at the same time, despite their differences, they had connected, and that connection was strong enough to bolster Marissa's confidence.

Rolling over so that she could face Ryan's back, his sleeping position mirroring what hers had been moments before, she tentatively reached out and touched his shoulder, making him slightly jump out of surprise at the feel of her soft hand on his skin. Slowly, he turned his body over to face hers, their eyes locking together almost instantly. For a moment, neither could speak.

"There's actually one other thing that I got you….for Christmas," Marissa explained her actions, sitting up in bed and turning on her bedside lamp. Pulling open her nightstand drawer, she took out a small box and handed it to Ryan who watched her face instead of looking at his gift. "I don't know what you'll think of it…maybe it's too forward; it might make you feel uncomfortable, but I wanted to make you feel as if you belong here, as if you're always welcome, day or night, even if I'm not here. I don't want you to think of this as my apartment. It can be our place, my home and your retreat from your everyday life." Laughing at herself in a disparaging manner, she urged him with her eyes to open the present.

It took him a moment to tear his gaze away from her, but, once he did and started opening the small gift, she couldn't look at him any more out of fear of rejection, so she turned her eyes away from him and pulled her legs up to her chest as if to guard herself from pain.

There was no wrapping paper on the present, just a decorated box with a bow, so as soon as Ryan lifted the lid, he saw that it held a key. "What's this for," he asked her baffled.

"It's for here….for the apartment," she explained before taking a deep breath. Still refusing to look at him, she continued. "It's my spare key. No one else has one, not even Caitlyn, but I wanted you to have it." Finally turning her body towards his, her eyes never leaving her hands, she reached out to pull the box and key away from him. "It was a stupid idea. Forget I even…"

"It is not a stupid idea," Ryan replied forcefully, snatching the box away from her grasping hands, "and if you think I'm going to let you take this key away from me…." His voice trailed off as he had no idea what he could say. If she demanded he give her the key back, there was nothing he could do to stop her, but, at the same time, he wanted to keep it forever. Although he had never told her, he already felt as if he belonged with her at her apartment. There was nowhere else where he felt accepted for who he was without strings attached or conditions. Given the choice between spending his time with Marissa in Seattle or at home in Chino with his wife, he would choose Marissa every time, and, by giving him that key, he knew that she wanted him with her as often as he could get away.

Wordlessly, he moved across the bed and took her in his arms in a close, tender embrace, needing a way to express what her gift meant to him. He could feel her hesitate at first, barely returning the hug, but, as soon as he pulled her in even tighter to his body, he felt her melt under his hands and hold unto him as if she could lose him at any second. Their touches were desperate, greedy, devoted.

Needing reassurance, Marissa pulled back and looked deeply into Ryan's eyes. "So, you're sure you want it?"

Cupping her face, he tenderly leaned in and kissed her forehead. "I want the key," Ryan said decisively, leaving no room for argument. "I have never wanted something more in my life." With that, he smiled at her warmly, kissed her forehead one last time, and then snuggled back down under the covers, waiting for her to do the same and turn the light off.

Once she did, she turned to him, their bodies now facing each other as they waited for sleep to overtake them. "Merry Christmas, Ryan," she said, and, with that, she closed her eyes, within moments, falling into a soft, dream filled, peaceful slumber. Ryan, however, stayed awake long after she had fallen asleep, his eyes watching her delicate face and chest as it rose and fell with each tiny breath she took, the streetlight casting her beautiful countenance in a gentle glow, while his right hand continued to play with the wedding band on his left. _I wonder why I never took this off, why I still wear it,_ he silently asked himself. No answer would come. Just as he was about to drift off to sleep, the inevitable pull of exhaustion dragging him under, he pushed the ring firmly into place, settling it back into the spot it had been in for the past eleven years.

She was up at the crack of dawn, before the light had even touched the cool, crisp morning air, and ran into her sister's room, jumping on the bed to wake her up. Clad in her new, pink fleece sleeper, the two young women shared merry laughs and settled down under the covers to talk and giggle their way through the morning. Their presents could wait; even their hungry stomachs could wait as well. For a few minutes, the rest of the world disappeared and they were alone, completely content and satisfied to only be with each other.

For most people, those with children, their nights of rest before the hectic hours of Christmas morning were just beginning, but not for her. She had a dinner to make, and, if they were going to eat at 1:00 the next afternoon, things needed to be started much earlier than what was considered traditional or even sane. Getting out of bed, she got dressed quickly not wanting to disturb her husband. He was actually home for Christmas; there was no way she was even going to tempt a fight by asking him to help her. Today, she would pamper him and, through her actions and gifts, show him how much she cared.

The cookies were spread out before them in smorgasbord fashion, too many for even a dozen people to eat. Although they had attempted to bake their own the day before, the dough that had actually made it onto the cookie trays and not in their stomachs had only proven to burn, so they had been forced to go to the local bakery and buy every single kind of cookie that looked appetizing at all. Cradling their large glasses of ice cold milk in their hands, their eyes were glued to the television screen before them as they watched their favorite holiday movie of all time: National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. Talking was prohibited, but giggling was encouraged.

Timidly, she crept into their bedroom, pushing the door open with her foot as her arms were full and occupied with the heavy, large tray covered in delectable delicacies for her husband's Christmas morning. She had let him sleep in; it was almost 9:00, but he needed to get up so that they could open their gifts in time for her to finish their dinner. Plastering a warm, loving smile on her face, she gently spoke, her voice as kind as she could make it. Stirring him, he sat up in bed. Though he thanked her for her efforts in making him breakfast, she was hurt when he complained about the fact that there were no cinnamon rolls. She hadn't even known that he liked them. Apologizing profusely, she left the room to go back downstairs, not wanting to show him she was upset, asking him to get dressed and join her whenever he was finished eating.

The living room was a sea of festive colors; the wrapping paper, bows, boxes, and presents strewn across the small, cramped space. Humorous, holiday music filled the air and made them occasionally sing along when a particular verse or chorus came on that they loved. As the two young women opened their gifts from each other, they talked and laughed, getting up to try on and model every new piece of clothing for the other. There weren't a lot of presents nor were they expensive, but each one was special, endearing, personalized, and neither of them would change a thing.

Everything was neat and orderly. Each individual piece of tape was carefully pulled apart from the wrapping paper so as to avoid making a mess, and, after each gift was revealed, the paper, ribbons, and boxes were gathered and thrown away before the next gift was opened. She had long since finished opening her presents, for there had only been the traditional three: a gift certificate to her favorite store, an expensive bottle of perfume, and a new piece of jewelry. His presents for her never wavered, never changed every year; they were always the same thing. However, she seemed to buy him more and more each year, as if she could buy his affections. There were clothes, shoes, cologne, sports memorabilia, new tools, and anything and everything else she could think of that he might like, but nothing he opened put a smile on his face. Giving the excuse that she had to check on their meal, she excused herself from the living room and went into the kitchen, needing to cry in peace. If only she had stayed she would have seen him reach into his pocket and pull out a simple, golden key, squeezing it tightly in his hand as if it offered him comfort and reassurance, before putting it back away where no one else could see it.

Long into the afternoon, they played in the snow together, building snowmen and snowwomen, having snowball fights behind their carefully crafted forts, and making snow-angels. It was the one tradition they had kept from their first Christmas on their own without any parents, not because of sentimental reasons but because it was just so much fun. Their cheeks rosy and windburnt, they laughed and played the day away, occasionally taking breaks to get a warm, delicious cup of hot chocolate from the many thermoses they had brought with them. Their spirits were infectious, and, after a while, local children came out to play with them, bringing their new sleds and making the fun just that much better.

Staring across the long table, polished so smoothly the candles and Christmas lights reflected off of it creating a glare, the two people sat eating their holiday dinner. The entire expanse was covered with food, way too much food for only two people to eat. There was every kind of meat, vegetable, side dish, and dessert a person could ask for. While she looked on at her meal proudly, he silently lamented that there were millions of people starving that day. His mind went back to the woman he had spent seven days with the week before and her haunting tale of her and her sister's first Christmas on their own, eating their only meal in a soup kitchen. The sight before him made him literally feel sick to his stomach, and he was unable to eat even a single bite. Suddenly, he found himself craving the down-to-earth simplicity of pizza and sundaes, and he knew Marissa was right. All those trimmings he had always found to be so important really didn't matter at all.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

She had just gotten home from the airport. Although it had been wonderful to see Caitlyn and to spend Christmas with her, Marissa was glad to be home and hoped that, someday soon, there would be someone there to share it with her. It had been a couple of weeks since they had last seen each other, and she found herself literally aching to be near him. Walking into her apartment, she smiled at the sight of her luggage, just another reminder of the man she missed, and, without a second's thought, she pulled her phone out of her purse as she made her way back to her bedroom, suitcase rolling along behind her. It was 11:30 on New Years Eve, and she knew Theresa was dragging him to a party, so, even though she'd only be able to hear his voice for a few seconds, she decided to call and leave a voice message anyway.

Lifting the phone to her ear at the same exact moment she put her bag on her bed, she set herself to the task of unpacking. Unfortunately, because she had been at her sister's apartment, the laundry was clean, so she couldn't just dump it all in the hamper. Forgetting about the clothes though and losing herself in Ryan, Marissa waited for the voicemail to pick up. Standing there in her bedroom beside the bed they had shared, albeit platonically, the last night he had spent with her, she realized just how much she needed to see him. She needed to see him smile at her, his eyes lighting up and glowing with warmth at something cute or humorous that she said. She needed to hear his laugh as he teased and taunted her about her lack of cooking skills, her habit of putting her foot in her mouth, or her utter lack of sports knowledge. She needed to feel his arms wrap around her as he held her to him in a close, protective embrace, hugging her to show just how much he cared. But most of all, she just needed to feel connected with him, like together they were two separate pieces that fit together to make a whole.

"Hey you," a voice suddenly filled the other line of the phone, shocking Marissa so much she ran into the footboard of her bed, stubbing her toe.

"OH! Cotton headed niggy muggins," she screamed, holding her foot and hopping around the room with her phone clutched between her neck and ear. "That hurt like a son of a bitch! Don't do that to me!"

"Do what," Ryan asked, biting back a laugh. "All I did was answer my phone. And do I want to know what the hell you just said, Cotton…..?"

"Cotton headed niggy muggins, it's from movie Elf, and you're not supposed to startle me! You're supposed to be at a New Years party with your wife. I didn't expect you to pick up."

"Well if you don't want to talk to me," he playfully teased her, "I can just hang up."

"Don't you dare put that phone down," she ordered playfully. "Now, because we'll actually be able to talk….I mean, we will won't we? You're not like hiding in the corner of some party about to be caught covertly talking on the phone are you?"

"I'm at home, alone. We can talk for as long as you want."

"Okay, good. Anyway, like I was saying," Marissa continued, picking up her suitcase and relocating it to the floor. She could unpack anytime, but she and Ryan rarely had an opportunity to talk late at night without running the risk of getting interrupted by either her work schedule or his wife. "Because we'll actually be able to talk for a while, I'm going to change my clothes, get comfortable, and lay in bed while we catch up. While I change, tell me just how exactly you got out of that party your wife was so adamant you attend with her."

"I just wasn't feeling well…."

"What do you mean you weren't feeling well," Marissa asked anxiously, the worry in her voice clear and distinct. "What's wrong, and, if you're sick, why the hell isn't Theresa there taking care of you?!"

"Marissa, calm down, it was just a headache." Despite his insistence that he was fine, it was gratifying to hear how concerned she was for him. It made him realize, once again, just how much she cared about him. "And Theresa didn't stay, because I told her not to. All she would have done was annoy me, and we would have ended up in a fight which would just make my headache worse. Besides," he pointed out, "this worked out better anyway. She's off having a good time and getting soused, and I'm here, in the comfort of my own house, talking to you. Sounds like a pretty damn good New Years Eve to me." Changing the subject, he asked, "how was your flight?"

"Uneventful. Because of your help in packing my suitcase, I was dressed properly, so I'm sure that will make you feel better." Marissa couldn't help but laugh along with him before continuing to talk. "I actually slept most of the way home. Caity and I were out late last night, so I needed to catch up on my rest."

"Did you guys do anything fun?"

"She actually took me to this party," Marissa replied nonchalantly, finally dressed in her pajamas, a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt of Ryan's he had left there, and in bed. "It was weird though, fun but weird, because, there I was, 27, soon to be 28, and hanging out with a bunch of college students. I didn't even graduate from high school."

"You have your GED though," Ryan pointed out. "Did you ever think about going to college?"

"Not really. I had bills to pay, a little sister to support, and, by the time our lives were stable enough to start saving some money, Caitlyn was starting college. Besides, it was just something I never really wanted to do. I wouldn't even know where to start figuring out what I'd major in."

"Now that I can understand," Ryan sympathized with her. "I went to college because….that's what you did after high school. Plus, Theresa and her mother expected me to. My advisor practically had to pick my major for me."

"Why couldn't you pick your own?"

"Are you kidding me, that would have been too much pressure. I mean, think about it," Ryan told her. "If you don't pick something you like, something you're good at, you're going to be miserable the rest of your life."

This was not the conversation Marissa had wanted or had in mind when Ryan picked up the phone, surprising her. New Years Eve was already a depressing enough holiday, and there was something about his words, something she could not quite place, that made her feel uncomfortable and on edge. Wanting to smile and have fun, she changed the subject.

"This is crazy," she pointed out, the forced enthusiasm in her voice undetected by Ryan. "We're supposed to be looking towards the future tonight and not reflecting back over the past. I know," she breathlessly exclaimed, sitting up in bed like an excited little girl, "let's work on our resolutions together. I'll help you come up with one, and you can help me."

"That's an easy one," Ryan picked on her. "You need to resolve to learn how to cook. I expect to have my friend around for a while, thank you very much, and it is not good for any person to eat as much take out and junk food that you do."

"If I try to figure out this whole cooking thing, I'll end up burning down my apartment building. Caity and I, while I was there visiting her for Christmas, tried to make cookies, and not a single one came out not burned to a crisp. We still can't figure out what we did wrong."

"Fine, we'll think of a different resolution for you," Ryan agreed with her, her cooking story eliciting the response out of him she had hoped for, "but that doesn't mean you get out of this. I'll just start giving you lessons when I'm up there staying with you."

Smiling, she responded, "that could be fun, especially if I get to pick what we make."

"Yeah, not going to happen."

"Boo, you're no fun. That should be your New Years resolution," she playfully suggested. "You should try to stop raining on my parade and work on loosening up a little bit. Do you ever just do something because you want to without considering the consequences?"

"No, that would be irresponsible," he answered, "and the last time I was irresponsible, I ended up married, because Theresa said she was pregnant."

"Maybe that should be your resolution," Marissa recommended, "to promise yourself that you'll find out, once and for all, if Theresa was ever really pregnant. _Maybe then,_ she added silently to herself, _you'll finally make a decision about your marriage and end it._

"That's an option, but we still don't have anything for you yet. Let's see here, what should Marissa do or change in the New Year?"

She knew he was avoiding the issue, pushing it aside, and merely placating her by saying that he would consider her suggestion, but she would take what she could get. If she pushed him too hard, he would just shut down and, this way, she at least had him thinking about the issue that should have been addressed years ago. Sometimes it seemed as if he was afraid to learn the truth, that, once he found out that his suspicions about his wife were correct, his whole life would become a lie, and that was something she knew Ryan would not be able to handle. Inwardly sighing, she let the conversation turn back to her.

"Actually, I think I already know what my resolution will be. I've had this dream now for myself since I was a little girl, but I've always given the excuse that it wasn't the right time and arguing that waiting one more year to go after what I want would make more sense, but I'm sick of waiting. Life's too short to waste. So, right here and now, while I talk to you, I'm going to promise myself that I've going to go after my castle in the sky even if I fail, because I'd rather fail attempting something than be too afraid to try."

Ryan was taken aback. She could hear the astonishment in his voice. "What dream? You've never told me about a dream before!"

"No, I haven't," Marissa concurred, trying desperately to hold back a yawn but failing miserably, "and I'm not going to tell you what it is. I want it to be a surprise."

"How will I know if you accomplish it then?"

"You're just going to have to trust me. If I don't see the resolution through, then I'll tell you what the dream is, but, hopefully, you'll be able to see it actualized for yourself." When she answered his question, Marissa waited, breath abated, to see how he would respond.

"Well, trusting you has always been something I've found easy to do to, so you have yourself a deal. But, for now, you're going to have to trust me that it's time we hang up. You're obviously exhausted, and you need to go to sleep." When she went to argue, he stopped her by continuing to talk. "I promise to call you tomorrow, and we can talk for as long as you want. I know Theresa. She'll get up late tomorrow because she'll be hung over, and, instead of staying at home with me like she insisted back when she gave me my ultimatum, she'll skip out when I'm not paying attention and hide out at her bakery all day embarrassed about losing control and getting drunk. Plus," he added, "I should be getting an assignment in Seattle soon, so hopefully, we'll be able to spend some time together within the next few weeks."

"You better," Marissa insisted, "you need to test out that new key of yours, make sure that it works properly and doesn't stick in the lock." As her eyes drifted shut, lulled by the gentle, soothing sound of his laughter, she spoke again, her voice softer, huskier with sleep. "Happy New Year, Ryan."

"Happy New Year, Marissa."

With that, she hung up, a delicate smile upon her beautiful face, and fell into a deep, restful, much needed sleep as fantasies of not only a New Years Eve conversation with Ryan filled her unconscious but of a kiss as well.

"You will never guess what happened! I have some great news," Caitlyn squealed excitedly into the Marissa's ear as soon as she picked up the phone.

"Hello to you, too, Caity." Sighing, Marissa sat up in and bed and swung her legs around to stand up. Shuffling out of her room and moving towards the kitchen so she could get something to drink, she continued. "I was actually trying to sleep seeing as how its 6:30 on a Saturday morning and I didn't get to bed until 4:00, but, other than that, I'm good. How are you?"

"Ugh, time zones are so annoying. You see, if you would listen to me and move out east so we could be closer, we wouldn't have this problem. Besides," Caitlyn pointed out smugly, "if you really didn't want to be disturbed, you would have turned off your cell."

"Yeah, but what if…." Her voice trailed off, leaving her statement open ended and unfinished. She and Caitlyn did not need to get into yet another disagreement over Ryan, especially when Marissa was going on less than three hours of sleep. "Anyway, what did you want to tell me? I'm up now, so you might as well spill." Settling down into her couch and pulling a blanket off the back of it, she switched on the television, muting it so that it wouldn't disturb their conversation. "Wait," she yelled out before her sister could speak, suddenly energized as well, "don't tell me; let me guess. You got that internship you applied for! Congrats, Caity!"

"What….oh, yeah, that," Caitlyn dismissed, "I found out about that a few days ago…"

Interrupting her, Marissa exploded, irritated with her sister, "thanks for telling me about it! Shows you just where I rank on your priority list!"

"Quit being so dramatic, Marissa. This is about you."

"I don't care about me right now. I want to hear more about your internship." Stopping for a second to take a sip of her orange juice, Marissa pushed on. "Tell me all about it, what you'll be doing, how many hours you'll be working. Are you getting paid? Is there a chance this could develop into a full time job after you graduate?"

"If you don't shut up and let me speak," Caitlyn threatened, "I'm going to hang up this phone and not tell you anything." When Marissa merely remained quiet on the line, Caitlyn continued. "About my internship, I will forward all the information I have to you as soon as I hang up the phone, but that's not why I called. Do you remember Chase from the party we went to your last night here?"

"Caity, you introduced me to about 50 different people that night. You're going to give me a little bit more to go on. I need visuals, something to jog my memory."

"24, tall, muscular, jet black hair, dark eyes, tan complexion, basically the epitome of sex appeal, and the best part is that he is interested in you. I know he's younger," Caitlyn acknowledged, countering Marissa's argument before she could even offer it, "but isn't that the in thing to do now anyway? Plus, he's totally loaded. He comes from this long line of prestigious doctors, and he's a surgical intern who plans on going into plastic surgery. The guy is seriously perfect, and he wants you. Whenever you're in town next, he wants to take you out, and, before then, he asked for your email address and phone number so he can get to know you."

"I don't think that's such a good idea, Caitlyn," Marissa began, her tone displaying her displeasure and lack of enthusiasm towards the idea of dating Chase. "Think about it. What would I say on our first, hypothetical date? Hi, I'm Marissa. Wow, you're a doctor! Guess what, I'm a stripper. It's really nice to meet you. When do you want to introduce me to your family? I'm sure I have some stripper friends I could set your brother up with."

"First of all," Caitlyn taunted, "he doesn't have any brothers." Marissa merely rolled her eyes at the response, for her sister was obviously ignoring the point to everything she had said. "Besides, I never said you were going to marry the guy," Caitlyn continued. "All we're talking about here are a few conversations and a casual date. If you get laid, more power to you, because even I know it's been a while."

"I am so not talking to about this. My sex life is none of your business!"

"What sex life? You haven't had sex since high school! Listen, Marissa," Caitlyn attempted to persuade, "there's no reason why you shouldn't start dating, why you currently aren't. You're young, single, hot, available, and I know that you eventually want to settle down someday and have a family. You don't have a kid sister holding you back any longer, so just go for it. Even if you only go out with Chase once, it's a start."

"We live on opposite coasts," Marissa argued. "It would be so unpractical for me to date him."

"It's not a problem for Chase."

"Well, it's a problem for me," Marissa snapped. "Look, thank you for caring, but I'm not interested. Obviously, I wasn't attracted to him in the first place, because I don't even have the slightest recollection of this guy. I don't want to date someone who is younger than me, I would feel uncomfortable seeing someone who comes from such a prestigious family, and, if and when I start dating again, I will find the guy myself."

"Wait a minute." Marissa could hear the change in her sister's tone and knew that their conversation was about to take a turn she had hoped to prevent. With a voice that was accusing, annoyed, and slightly hostile, Caitlyn revealed the real reason behind Marissa's reluctance to date Chase or anyone else for that matter. "I should have known he was the thing holding you back. He always is!"

"This has nothing to do with Ryan, Caitlyn."

"It shouldn't, but it does. Jesus, Marissa," the younger girl screamed, "when are you going to get over this and accept the fact that he's married and obviously in no hurry to leave his wife for you! You cannot sit back and let your life pass you by while he leads you on."

"I love you, Caity, more than I can even express. You're my little sister and my friend, but this is one area of my life where you do not get to tell me what to do or how to feel. If I wanted your advice, I would have asked for it." Upset, Marissa stood up and tossed the blanket that had been wrapped around her body aside. As they continued to fight, she paced around the apartment, up and down the hallway and through the main living area, her long legs carrying her swiftly.

"No," Caitlyn quarreled with her, "no, you do not get to dismiss me like that. We've always listened to each other with an open mind, and I will not let some guy waltz into your life and change that!"

"He's not just some guy! He's my….I uh…."

"He's what, you what," Caitlyn urged her to finish her statements. "Let me guess. He's your friend, your best friend; you like him, perhaps have a little bit of a crush on him."

"I'm not infatuated with Ryan, and he's more than just my best friend!"

'Then what exactly is he? I know you don't see him as the big brother we never had, because the looks the two of you give each other and the embraces you share scream anything but sibling affection. I know he's not gay, so all the hand holding and hugs cannot be dismissed as platonic and innocent. And, if you say you're not obsessed with him and that he's more than just your best friend, then what the hell does that make Ryan to you exactly Marissa?"

Without thinking, Marissa answered the pointed question her sister had asked her, crying out the answer at the top of her lungs, the pain and depth of her feelings evident from the sheer strength of her words. "I love him! I'm in love with Ryan! Are you happy now, Caitlyn? Are you satisfied? Do you feel vindicated that you were right months ago when you told me to be careful with my feelings and I didn't listen to you and fell in love with a married man anyway? Do you suddenly feel the urge to say 'told you so' and rub it in my face that you were right and I was wrong? Well I'm sorry I feel this way, trust me I never set out to fall in love with him, but I can't help how I feel. He's just Ryan….he's my one, you know?"

Marissa had never intended to admit her feelings for Ryan to anyone, let alone her sister who disapproved of their relationship in the first place. She was afraid that once she confessed the depths of her emotions, she would no longer be able to ignore them and function on a platonic level with Ryan any longer and losing him as even a friend was something she could not handle. No matter what, she needed him in her life. She just simply was not ready to confess her love to Ryan yet. With her back to the door of her apartment and distracted by her own feelings and the intensity of her words, she did not see him use his key to enter, hear her admission of love, and quietly leave again. Although he would be back minutes later and would act as if he had just arrived, nothing would ever be the same in their relationship again.

Ryan and Marissa had decided to go out to dinner that night. Her cooking lessons would begin the next day, but, because he would be in town for a week to write a story, she wanted to continue to show him her favorite little stores and restaurants in Seattle. Sitting across from each other at a small, family owned café, their table in front of a large, picture window that gave them a generous view of the water, the small, flashing lights on the various, occasional boat helped draw their attention away from the awkwardness that surrounded them as they remained silent, merely eating their meal and avoiding each others apprehensive, questioning glances. Instead of what should have been an enjoyable evening full of laughter and smiles, neither Ryan nor Marissa were having fun. However, she could tell that he was trying to cheer her up and bring her out of the melancholic state she had been in since her phone conversation with Caitlyn early that morning.

"So, what do you want for dessert," Marissa heard Ryan ask her, his knee nudging hers underneath their table, but she still refused to look up and meet his eyes.

Pushing the uneaten portions of her meal around on her plate in a disinterested manor, she replied, "wow, offering to buy me dessert and not mocking my unhealthy eating habits, what's the special occasional?" Although her words were meant to sound teasing and playful, at least attempting to play her role in the charade of innocence their relationship was, they came out sounding bitter and resentful. It wasn't intentional. She honestly wanted to spend time with Ryan and have fun, but as soon as she had voiced her true feelings for him, suddenly just being his friend wasn't enough, and she was taking her frustration with life out on him. Realizing this, she apologized. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me. Do you mind if we just get out of here, maybe just settle for some ice cream or cookies back at the apartment?"

"Anything you want," Ryan agreed, shocking her when he reached across the table and took her hand in his, squeezing it slightly. She sat back, her heart beating rapidly and aware of every single movement of his body. As he continued to hold her hand, his thumb gently rubbing soothing circles into her clammy palm, he motioned for their waiter, insinuating that they were ready for their check, paid for their meal, and then stood up out of his seat to help her out of her chair, only letting go of her hand long enough to help her into her coat. Walking out of the restaurant together, his arm slung possessively around her waist, the crisp, refreshing January wind assaulted their faces. The feeling of the cold air stinging her body was numbing and exactly what Marissa needed.

"Can we, maybe, just walk back," she timidly asked Ryan, offering him a small smile, just as he went to hail a cab.

Chuckling at her strange mood, he pulled her even closer into his body, knowing that they would need each others warmth for the trek back to the apartment. "What has gotten into you tonight," he lightheartedly asked, punctuating his rhetorical question with a delicate, whispering of a kiss on her temple. The simple gesture seemed to break through the wall Marissa had built around her heart, and she melted into his body, letting go of her concerns and doubts and simply savored the fact that Ryan was in Seattle with her, that she was carefully curled into his arms, and that they were walking back to what she now considered their home, back to the bed they would sleep in that night and every other night that week, together.

By the time they got back to the apartment twenty minutes later, they were both thoroughly chilled, their faces wind burnt and slightly chapped, and shivering. "Why don't you go in, slip on your robe, and I'll run you a nice, hot bath, complete with a cup of cocoa. We need to get you warmed back up."

"That's not going to help you any," Marissa pointed out, pulling him towards her living room. Letting go of his hand, she moved to her stereo, turning it on, and letting soft strains of music flutter through the air. Pushing the coffee table out of their way, she stood in the middle of the room and motioned for Ryan to join her, holding out her hands for his. "After all, it was my idea to walk home. The least I could do was help to warm you up, too, and, this way, we both benefit."

"Why, Marissa Cooper," Ryan teased her, "are you propositioning me?" He started laughing as she blushed profusely, reaching towards her and pulling her into his arms for a quick, intimate hug. "See, whatever you planned is already working. It's feeling rather balmy in here if you ask me." Releasing her, he slowly let his hands fall to her coat, unbuttoning it for her and slipping it off her shoulders while neither of them said a word; their eyes, instead, spoke for them. Taking off his own coat as well, Ryan tossed them aside to land on the couch before turning back to Marissa. "So, what exactly did you have in mind to help us recover from our walk induced frost bite?"

Timidly, she looked down, slightly nibbling on her bottom lip as she replied. "Would you…dance with me?"

Attempting to keep the mood light but failing miserably, Ryan teased, "if you can put up with the sorry excuse for moving slowly that I call dancing, then I'd love to."

Nodding fervently, Marissa laced her hands around his neck, pulling his body tightly into her own and burying her face in his shoulder, savoring the musky, purely masculine scent of his cologne as it surrounded and pervaded her senses. Sighing out of contentment as she felt his arms wrap around her waist, his hands fell to graze lightly against the open back of her dress, her skin tingling with pure desire wherever his fingers danced across it. Feeling his face nuzzle into her neck, his warm breath on her shoulder, the world disappeared and the only thing that mattered was the way he was holding her body, the way it felt to have his pressed up against hers, the way, in that moment, they were one. The hours would slip by, the music would fade to a complete stop, but Ryan and Marissa would remain in each others arms, eventually going to bed, together, when neither of them could remain awake any longer only to hold each other, once again, as they slept. After all, _friends_ sleep in each others arms…right?


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"Why don't you tell me what you're looking for," the kind middle aged woman instructed Marissa warmly, "and then, from there, I'll narrow down my list, and we'll go and take a look at some of these properties, get this dream of yours rolling."

They were sitting together in the realtor's small, cheerful office early one afternoon. Outside of the one, lone window that let the world beyond the office in, the late winter sunlight broke through the clouds and the rain ceased to fall. It was as if the world was trying to encourage Marissa, showing her that what she was doing, the step she was taking to better herself, was the right decision; it felt as if the sun was shining just for her, as if it were a good omen.

"I'm really quite flexible," Marissa answered. "I'm not looking for something that is ready made for me. If I have to do some remodeling, that's fine. I'll probably want to anyway to make it feel as if it really is mine, but there are a few things I would like in the building."

"Well, fire away, give me your list."

"I guess the most important aspect," Marissa revealed, "is that I would like there to be living quarters or at least enough adaptable space on the second floor to make an apartment. The idea that I could leave work and simply walk up a flight of stairs and be home sounds so appealing to me."

The realtor sighed at the idea. "That would be nice," she agreed, "especially when there's bad weather. Plus, you wouldn't have to fight traffic everyday, and it pretty much guarantees that you'll never be late for work."

"And it would be mine, you know," Marissa expanded, lost in her dream, "the whole building would belong to me."

"What else is on your list," the compassionate woman asked, smiling at her client's enthusiasm.

"Other than that," Marissa continued, "I'd just like it to be bright and cheerful with a lot of natural light. Oh, and of course we'll have to keep my budget in mind," she chuckled. "I might have been saving for this for a few years, but my pockets aren't that deep."

"Your budget is fine," the realtor admonished her gently as she typed in Marissa's prerequisites into her database of available properties in order to narrow down their search, "and your credit is superb. As soon as we find the right building for you, there will be banks lining up to offer you a loan."

They sat in silence for a moment while the older woman continued to work and Marissa bit her lip anxiously, eagerly waiting to hear all about the buildings they were going to tour that afternoon. She had a vision in her mind of what she wanted, what colors she would paint every room of her apartment and her work space, what her new business would be called, and just exactly how she would give a very special person in her life the grand tour as soon as she bought it. Smiling at the thought of them working late into the night remodeling her new home and his home away from home, she couldn't wait to have a space that truly felt like theirs together. He would be so proud of her, she just knew it, and that thought more than any of the others made her fingers and toes tingle out of anticipation. No matter what, everything was going to be perfect. For once, everything was going her way, and nothing was going to stop her from getting everything she wanted and that included both her old dream and her new one: her own business and Ryan all to herself.

"So, Miss Cooper," the realtor startled Marissa out of her thoughts, "it looks like we have a busy day ahead of us. There are nine properties I wanted to look at in Seattle this afternoon, and, if none of those work for you, I found a few more in the outlying suburbs of the city."

"It sounds great," Marissa replied enthusiastically, standing up and sliding her coat on her delicate frame effortlessly. "Tell me about the first one."

"Well, it's pre-turn of the century, brick, and down town in the historical district. Now, it is three stories, but, if you liked it, the third level could function as a rental property for you, because there is an outside entrance for it, or storage. The heating and electrical throughout the whole building have been remodeled within the past five years. Now the windows, however, are original to the building which means they still have the lead panes, and they do not open."

"Oh, I like those," Marissa interjected enthusiastically. "They have so much more charm than new, generic windows. Often the glass is imperfect, so, when the light catches it, you get beautiful rainbows that shine into the room. Would there be anyway to keep those?"

"The building has central air, too, so there's no need to get rid of the windows."

Walking out of the office together, the older woman stopped briefly to shut and lock the door quickly before they continued on their way out to her car. Both talking back and forth animatedly, sharing pieces of information about the various properties they would be seeing and offering opinions about the details of the buildings, they disappeared into the bright winter light excited for the task at hand and completely in sync. It was going to be a good working relationship.

Waiting patiently was not something Caitlyn Cooper was adept at. It had taken her several weeks to fight the pros and cons of the phone calls she was making, and, now that she had made the decision to go through with it, she needed to say what was on her mind as soon as possible. She knew he always carried his cell on him, that had become quite obvious when Marissa had been staying with her during Christmas and would call him at all hours of the night, so her instincts told her he was screening her call and hesitating about whether or not he should answer. _Typical spineless wimp,_ she complained silently to herself as she heard his voicemail pick up. What she was about to say might be playing dirty, but she was in no mood to adhere to the rules of polite society.

After listening to his bland, basic, sleep inducing voice mail greeting, she started speaking as soon as the annoyingly shrill beep sounded in her ear. "Ryan pick up your damn phone. This is Caitlyn, Marissa's sister…although you probably already know that. There's something wrong…" And that's all she got out before picked up, breathless and agitated with worry.

"What, what is it? What's wrong with her?"

"Hm," Caitlyn taunted him, "I wonder if you would be this concerned if I was calling about Theresa…your WIFE."

Snapping at her, he responded, "I'm not in the mood for your games. Just cut to the chase. Is there something wrong with Marissa?"

"Yes, there's something wrong with her," she replied hastily, unable to keep the hostility out of her voice. "She's twisting her heart around for a married man, putting her life on hold while she waits for him to decide just exactly who he wants. She's being jerked around by someone who is too afraid to face his own feelings, and, because of that, she's going to get hurt, and that is something I won't let happen if I can help it."

"Does your sister know you're calling me, because, frankly, this is none of your business, Caitlyn, and I know she'd agree with me on this? Listen, I don't have time for your self-righteous, judgmental act," Ryan continued without letting her respond to his question, "so I'm going to hang up. Do not call me again."

"If you hang up that phone," she threatened, "I'll call your house, and, if that doesn't get your attention, does the name 'Saccharine Dreams' sound familiar?"

By the intake of his breath, Caitlyn could tell she had caught him off guard just as she had intended. "How the hell did you find that out?"

"What," she asked innocently, "the name of your wife's bakery? Ryan, Ryan, Ryan, for a journalist, you're really not very smart, are you? It was actually quite easy to find out. All I had to do was type her name in, and, voila, all the information I could ever need to contact her appeared right before my very own eyes. Would you like me to read the phone number to the shop out loud to you to prove that I can get in contact with her whenever I want, or can we stop playing these games and talk about what I called for?"

"What do you want, Caitlyn?"

"I want to know just exactly how you feel about my sister, I want to know who you intend to choose, either your wife or your almost-mistress, and I want a time table as for when you're going to quit pussy footing around, finally grow some, be a man, and make a decision."

Dismissively, she heard him reply, "your sister and I are just friends, so this conversation is not only inappropriate but unnecessary as well."

"Well your friend," she retorted snidely, "is in love with you. Did you know that?" His prolonged silence was the only answer she needed. "I thought so. And you're telling me that you don't think you're hurting her, letting her fall deeper and deeper in love with you while you don't even attempt to end your marriage and encourage her feelings at the same time?"

Caitlyn heard him sigh in an exhausted manor, imagining him tiredly rubbing his stressed and conflicted face. "This isn't just a black and white issue, Caitlyn," he told her almost as if he was trying to convince himself. "There's more to this; it's complicated."

"See," she argued, "I don't think it is. There's only really one question you have to ask yourself. You don't have to answer this out loud, because you're the only one, for now, who needs to know what the answer is, but who do you love, my sister or your wife, and I'm not talking about friendship love, but love of my life, want to spend every single waking moment with said person, want to make love to them all day long, want them to carry your children kind of love. Once you admit that to yourself, the rest is really simple. If it's Theresa, then you end things with my sister, forget you ever met her, and go back to your life as it was before that fateful plane ride a few months ago. Or, and this is what I suspect, if it's Marissa, you need to leave your wife, start divorce proceedings as soon as possible, and tell her how you feel. This…limbo the three of you are in isn't fair to any of you. It's not fair to your wife, because you're practically having an affair and leading her on to believe that your marriage is stable and that you want to be with her, it's not fair to Marissa, because she's falling more and more in love with you every day, and there is no guarantee she'll have those feelings reciprocated like she deserves, there's no guarantee that she'll be happy when this is all decided, and it's not fair to you, because you're not being true to your own heart. Stop worrying about what's right and wrong, what society expects of you, stop being afraid of making the wrong decision and just make one. If you don't do something soon, no one is going to get what they want, and everyone is going to end up broken and alone. However, Marissa will have me to comfort her, Theresa will have her friends and her bakery, but what the hell will you have?"

And with that, she hung up the phone, satisfied with what she had said and hoping she had made a difference. Unfortunately, she feared her words had fallen on deaf ears.

It was later that week; the weekend had arrived, and Saturday afternoon found Ryan and Marissa running errands together. He was in town for a few days wanting to see her before he left for Florida where he would be covering spring training and then preseason baseball. Just as the day had been while Marissa had been scurrying all over town looking at available commercial properties, the sun was out, the weather was mild, and she felt as if the day was specifically designed for her enjoyment. The sky was literally smiling down on them.

"You know," Ryan teased her, his voice low so as not to disturb the other customers in line waiting to pick up their dry cleaning, "it would have made more sense to pick this up last."

"Why would it bother me to bring my dry cleaning along with us," she played along, batting her eyelashes at him, "when you'll be the one carrying all of it." His mock indignation made her giggle with glee, the simple banter they enjoyed back and forth bringing a warm, resplendent glow to her beautiful face. "Oh come on, don't give me that look," she motioned to his pout. "You're a big, strong guy, and you know the chivalrous gentleman in you wants to take care of little ol' miniature me. I promise to make it worth your while."

"You sound pretty confident, Cooper. What exactly do you think you have that I want that much?"

Saucily, she turned her back to him and walked to the counter for it was her turn and spoke over her shoulder. "I guess you'll just have to wait and see when we get home."

Their conversation was anything but innocent, their words laced with innuendoes and flirtatious connotations, but they were having too good of a time to question whether or not their actions were wrong, whether or not they were exposing their weakness for each other and opening themselves up for heartache. So their repartee continued from store to store, errand to errand, lost in each other and oblivious to the amused glances other patrons would send in their direction. To the outside world they were the perfect couple, but, inside their own private existence, it was achingly obvious to Marissa that they were anything but.

"This was such a great idea," Marissa gushed as she wandered around the video store. She had no idea how she was going to make up her mind and limit her selections. Just as she wanted to share all of herself with Ryan, that meant wanting to watch all her favorite movies with him.

Ryan merely complained. "I have a feeling there is going to be an infusion of pink on the television screen tonight." Too answer him, she stuck her tongue out and continued to browse the shelves. "Do I get to pick any," he asked. Looking over at him, she noticed he kept shifting the dry cleaning which was slung over his shoulder, and she had to stifle a giggle at how uncomfortable he was.

"Next time," she promised pulling him along with her through the various aisles. "Besides," she pointed out confidently, "I'm too innocent for those kind of movies." Motioning with her eyes, she drew his attention to the adult section of the store, and she couldn't help laugh at how wide his eyes got. "Oh calm down, I'm sure you prefer your own private stash anyway."

"I…um…uh…are you always this cheeky?"

Leaving him behind her, she replied breezily, "only around you," and continued to make her selections.

By the time they left the rental store, an hour later much to Ryan's dismay, he was carrying her movie picks along with the dry cleaning as they made their way towards the grocery store. What she had chosen had actually surprised him for it showed a very wide and varied taste, but, yet again, she always managed to amaze him. It was just another part of her undeniable charm.

"So, how adventurous are you feeling for dinner tonight," Ryan asked her as he pushed her around in the shopping cart at the grocery store. She sat inside it, contently eating a giant lollypop, reading a celebrity magazine, and offering her input to their purchases whenever she felt it was necessary. Her dry cleaning and their movies occupied the coveted front seat of the cart. "Do you want to really test those newfound cooking skills I've been instilling in you?"

They already had a wide assortment of junk food littered around Marissa's folded up form, frozen pizzas, cheese sticks, and breaded mushrooms, various bags of chips and pretzels, numerous boxes of cookies and desserts, and, of course, several gallons of ice cream, her favorite late night treat. To her, they were set for the next few days, but Ryan clearly had other things in mind to amuse their palettes and keep their hunger at bay. Luckily, the grocery store was just a block away from her apartment.

"Um…I'm up for a cooking lesson tonight as long as it won't take us too long to make whatever you had in mind and you wash the dishes."

"Why am I doing all the manual labor," Ryan complained. First, you make me carry your laundry, then I had to carry the movies…."

"And they were SO heavy," she interrupted his complaints to taunt him.

He continued after shooting her a playfully dirty look. "And now you want me to wash the dishes, too. I suppose you also expect me to carry home all the groceries as well?"

Hearing him refer to her apartment as home just as she had hoped he would since she had given him the key at Christmas made her smile up at him warmly. Hooking her finger, she motioned for him to lower his face to her level. Gazing into his eyes, they were both silent simply enjoying the moment while it lasted, but, eventually, she broke it, reaching up and pinching his cheek mischievously as she talked. "Aw, that's a great idea, Ryan," she gushed in reference to his comment that he would have to carry the groceries as well. "Thanks for volunteering."

Smirking at her audacity, he leaned in further until the point where their hot, tempting breaths on each other lips caused goosebumps to raise on their vulnerable flesh. Heart rates were elevated, eyes were wide with anticipation, and chests were heaving in excitement. "You will pay for that," Ryan finally whispered, his tone barely audible and husky with desire. It took everything in Marissa to hold herself back and not kiss him then and there surrounded by bustling shoppers and clerks.

"Is that a threat or a promise?"

"Take it however you want," he responded with a smile. Again, they just remained close, their senses heightened and ready for whatever the other did next, but then Ryan pulled away, and, although he was still smiling, Marissa could see in his eyes that he had shut down, that he would no let them get as close to crossing a line they had both agreed must remain in place. "So," he changed the subject, "what do you think about vegetable and kielbasa packets on the grill? We could go on the roof, cook up there, and then have a picnic.

Nodding her head to show her concurrence with his idea, she went back to her magazine and candy as Ryan wandered around the store picking up all the various items they would need for their dinner. As they were checking out though, Marissa decided she wasn't going to let their almost kiss bother her. After all, Ryan was there with her in Seattle, it was a gorgeous evening, and she felt more alive than she had in years.

Skipping ahead of a burdened down Ryan, Marissa twirled and danced through the streets of her neighborhood. By the time they made their way home, it was dark, so the sidewalks were fairly empty and she was free to amuse herself any way she could.

"Hey, why don't you come back here and walk with me," Ryan suggested, calling up ahead to her. When she turned around to look at him with a questioning look on her face, she heard him laugh before continuing to talk. "I promise I won't try to get you to carry anything." That was all she needed to hear, so she made her way to his side.

"What's up?"

"Well," he started hesitantly. She could tell he was nervous about what he was about to say, and that made her even more curious. "I've been thinking."

"That's always a good sign," she joked, elbowing him softly in the ribs to show she was merely in jest.

Plunging ahead with his topic, he just smiled at her comment before letting her into his mindset. "So, when you take vacations, you always go to Ohio to see your sister; you never do anything fun."

"Going to see Caity is fun," Marissa argued.

"You know what I mean," he excused her response. "Anyway, I was thinking that, if you can get off of work, maybe you'd like to join me in Florida not this next weekend by the one after. Hopefully by then I'll have most of my work finished, and we could just hang out, go to the beach, sight see."

She had not been expecting this. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be? It'll be fun and something new for us to do. We know we get along in Seattle, but how do we fare on the East Coast?"

Through giggles at his ridiculously pointless comment, she said, "well, when you put it that way, how could a girl say no? I'll have to check with my boss, but I don't think it'll be a problem." Smiling impishly up at him, she pondered out loud, "whatever shall I pack?"

Meanwhile, another woman close to Ryan was shopping, but she was all by herself, lonely, and not enjoying the experience. It had been a long day at work, the stress completely ruining her escape from her ever failing marriage, and so she had rewarded herself with a shopping trip to LA that night. After all, she had no one to go home to. Her husband was out of town, once again working in Seattle, he was still avoiding the issue of children, and she didn't even have a pet to keep her company. Arms laden down with purchases, she struggled through the large shopping center her mind clouded with disturbing thoughts, her eyes cast to the floor as she watched her feet take each step towards the parking lot. Suddenly though, her movements were interrupted as someone forcefully walked into her, their abrupt jarring motions sending her bags scattering across the floor.

"I'm sorry," she apologized immediately even though she wasn't sure whose fault the bodily collision was. Before she could help it, tears instantly formed in her eyes and she sunk to the ground upset, blinding reaching for her bags to appear busy but not caring if she ever got them all back or not.

"Oh no," the familiar, comforting male voice corrected her, "it was all my fault." When he heard her quiet sobs, he knelt down in front of her and placed a kind hand on her shoulder in an attempt to get her to look at him. "Did I hurt you?" When her eyes finally moved up to meet his gaze, he exclaimed. "Mrs. Atwood!" They didn't know each other well, but he was Ryan's boss, so they saw each other at every work related party they both had to attend.

"Please," she begged still crying, "it's Theresa. We've known each other for how many years now; I think you've definitely earned the right to call me by my first name. Oh, and no, I'm not hurt, but thanks for asking. It's just been one of those days…week….month!

"Why don't you go and sit down on the bench over there," he motioned towards the wooden seat, "and I'll gather up all your packages and bring them over to you. Then we'll have a nice little catch-up chat, you can tell me what's wrong, unburden yourself and, in the process, keep me entertained while my wife does her best to spend my millions."

A few minutes later, they were seated together, and he had even bought them each a cinnamon raison soft pretzel from the little vendor in the mall. His small gesture to buy her that was the first thing that had made her smile genuinely in days.

"Now, Theresa," he said gently, "can you tell me what's wrong? Why were you so upset?"

"Oh, I'm just overreacting," she dismissed her own emotions. "You know how it is. I was lonely, thought some retail therapy might make me feel better, it didn't by the way, and I guess I just broke down. Sorry it had to happen to you."

"Don't apologize. It doesn't bother me. In fact, it's nice rescuing pretty young ladies like yourself; gives an old man like me an ego boost." Even a depressed Theresa couldn't help but laugh at his comment. "I just wish that your husband was here to help you instead. Where is he off to this week anyway," he asked. "I don't pay much attention to the assignments at this point. I let my son run things. As long as the copy reaches my desk by the deadline, that's all I care about."

"Where else," Theresa answered dismally. "He's in Seattle, like always."

"Ah, that's right," Ryan's boss agreed with her, a look of recognition on his face. "I remember my son telling me something about that. Ryan requested all the Seattle assignments."

"He what," Theresa exploded looking at the older man with shock and disbelief on her face. "I've been asking him for years to request all local assignments, and he went and requested all stories for a city hundreds of miles away from me!"

"I just assumed you had family there."

"We don't have any family," she responded while standing up and gathering her packages once again. "Thank you for the pretzel and enlightening me to my husband's deception, but, if you will excuse me, I have some things I need to think about."

She knew she left the flabbergasted man in shock, his mouth hanging upon in surprise and slight panic. It was never his intention to cause on of his best employees marital problems or to wreck a relationship, but his little admission set something in motion that would forever change three people's lives.

None of them, Theresa, Ryan, or Marissa, at that point, could have predicted what was going to happen next.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Okay, so there are only two chapters left for this story following this update, but I REALLY like what's here. I know this story has taken a while to get rolling, but the build up was important, because it showed us more about these characters, let us into their mindsets. Now that the groundwork has been laid, it's time to reap the rewards. I'm curious to see what your impressions and predictions are after this chapter. Enjoy!_

Charlynn

Chapter Eight

The trip to Florida had been exactly what Marissa had needed. Like Ryan said, when she went on vacations, it was always to Columbus to see Caitlyn, and, while that was always enjoyable, it never left her time to just simply relax and unwind. Despite his initial idea that they would spend time together while she was there with him, Marissa had seen very little of Ryan.

She had arrived in Miami on Thursday evening. He had picked her up at the airport, and, before she could even check into her hotel room, they had gone to a baseball game. While Ryan worked, she had pretended to be interested in the game, but, no matter how hard she tried, she could not enjoy watching sports. So, instead, she pulled out the book she had been reading on the plane ride, put her feet up on the seat in front of her, and purchased a steady stream of hot dogs and cracker jacks. Because Ryan was so busy interviewing team personnel, he never noticed her lack of concentration, and she realized perhaps it wouldn't be too bad to go to more games with him….as long as she was properly prepared.

That night, after Ryan helped her check into her own hotel room, something she had insisted on, because sharing a hotel room just seemed too sordid, she snuck out of the resort and found herself walking the shoreline, lost in thought, and simply enjoying the feeling of warm sand between her toes, the sound of the waves crashing on the beach, and the vision of the moonlight over the water. The ocean, the beach, they were the only things she missed from Southern California. Although Seattle was on the coast, it just wasn't the same thing, and, at night when the murky surroundings dimmed the differences between the Atlantic and Pacific waters, she could almost imagine that she was, once again, a little girl wandering around her family's private beach in Newport. Perhaps it was that feeling of innocence and calm that made her realize she didn't just want to change her career; she wanted to re-envision her entire life.

Quickly, Marissa found that her days took on a pattern. By the time she would wake up in the morning, Ryan would already be working, so she had the day to herself. Following breakfast in bed, she would shower, get dressed, and immediately head to the beach. There, it was nothing but sun, relaxation, and quiet time to sit and ponder her life. Between dips in the ocean to cool off, she would read, listen to music, and even write down ideas for the business she wanted to open. She would even order a picnic from the hotel kitchen to take with her, so she wouldn't have to get up and lose her spot. When she got tired or when the warmth of the sun's raise was just too relaxing, she would doze off, leaving her conscious dreams behind for unconscious fantasies. Those, the unaware, sleep induced ideas were the ones that were the most telling, most revealing, and, by the time Sunday afternoon had arrived, she knew she could settle for anything less.

"Hey," Ryan greeted her as he jogged down to the beach and sat down on her blanket. He was done working, and, while they could, they were going to enjoy the rest of their time in Miami together. Although they both flew out later that evening, there were still several valuable hours of daylight left to frolic in the water and lounge on the beach.

"So, did you eat lunch yet," Marissa asked him, sitting up from her reclined position and crossing her legs to get comfortable, "because I had the hotel pack some extra food for you just in case."

"That sounds great," Ryan flashed her an appreciative smile, "but, I think I'm going to go for a quick swim first. Save me a spot," he referred to the quickly filling beach before dashing off towards the water, the light from the sun casting a glow on his tanned and toned body, a sight Marissa couldn't keep from smiling at no matter how much she needed to talk to him.

As his quick swim turned into a lengthy one, she slowly drifted off to sleep, the lull of the music streaming through her mind and the faraway twinkling sound of children's laughter a lullaby for her relaxed body, and, before she knew it, she was, yet again, having the same dream that had made her desires suddenly clear and distinct. It always started the exact same way: they would pull up to their home, the first real house Marissa had lived in since she was sixteen, not an apartment or a condo, but a house with a mailbox, a white picket fence, a garage, and a large back yard with ancient trees for climbing, tree houses, and hanging tire swings. It was a home to shelter children, a home to welcome grandchildren, a home to grow old in together. As they left the car, approaching the house, her husband would pick up her and carry her over the threshold, laughing at her giggles and peals of mirth the entire time they moved towards their bedroom. There, he would gently place on their bed, and, just as they were about to make love, she would see his face.

"Ryan," Marissa gasped out, startled. Sensing something while she had been asleep, her eyes had sprung open only to land on a hovering Ryan who was gazing intently at her face or, more precisely, her lips while she dreamt. "What are you doing," she asked, confused, but he refused to answer. Instead, he simply remained where he was, dripping salt tinged beads of water onto her vulnerable, scantily clad body. Nervous, she simply laid there unsure of what to do. Here was the moment she had been dreaming of for months, since the day he had first kissed her on the plane, but it didn't feel right; it wasn't the perfect first kiss as a couple that she wanted.

With her wide, naïve eyes, she followed his gaze as it trailed from her lips down her body, his vision taking in every nuance of her figure and being. Slowly, as he raised his sight back to her face, once again, he lowered his mouth to her chest, his lips open as he exhaled a rushed, excited breath onto her skin, his nose dancing across her neck as he took in her essence. By the time his shining, cobalt eyes locked with her own, her chest was heaving in anticipation, her body tingling as she waited for his touch. Neither of them looked away from the other, their connection unbreakable. Languidly, he rested his weight on one arm as he picked his left hand up to brush away the wind tossed hair that was disrupting his view of her gorgeous face, and she leaned into his touch, her eyes falling shut in ecstasy at the feeling of his damp, powerful fingers cradling her cheek.

Breaking her out of the spell she was under, he lowered his mouth to her ear, his voice nothing but a deep, seductive whisper. "Open your eyes. I want to see inside of you."

Wordlessly, she obeyed, turning her head to lock her own blue irises with his. As he lowered his face closer to hers, his hand wound its way down her body, leaving her face behind and trailing over her arm and side before it settled possessively on her hip, his fingers toying with the thin material of her bikini. Just as she thought he was going to finally kiss her, envelope her body in his and share the embrace they had both been craving so desperately, he stopped, his eyes smiling into hers as he licked his lips, their mouths so close his tongue brushed against her lips as he wetted his own. It was the most erotic, electrically charged, beautiful moment of her life, and, as she felt the cool metal of his golden wedding band make contact with the back of her thigh, she knew it could go no further.

"I can't do this," she cried out desperately, her tone quiet and filled with pain, breaking her gaze away from his. Closing her eyes as a desperate tear of sorrow and mistrust slipped effortlessly down her face, she waited for Ryan to move away from her body, to release his hold upon her heart and mind so she could escape into the quiet solitude of her hotel room, but he remained stagnant. She could feel his eyes upon her, willing her to look back up at him, but she refused for it would be too dangerous for her emotions and too easy for him to change her decision. After never ending moments of tension, she felt his body weight start to shift and let out a relieved sigh, but, before she could move away from him, he lowered his mouth to hers once again, placing a delicate, loving kiss on her cheek, barely grazing against the corners of her lips, just enough to tease and torment her feelings and conscience. He held the embrace for several seconds, perhaps waiting and wishing for her to reconsider, before finally pulling away and sitting up on the blanket they were sharing.

"I have to go." Leaving her things and a bewildered Ryan behind, Marissa ran away as quickly as she could, never once looking back at the man she loved, needing to be by herself, needing the solace and privacy of her hotel room, needing to still her pounding heart and quiet her raging mind. There were only a few hours before she would have to face him again, and before that could happen, Marissa needed to think long and hard about what was to come next in her life, where they could possibly go from the moment they had just shared on the beach.

The blinds were closed to block out the harsh, spring, late morning sunlight as Theresa Atwood, seated rigidly in her husband's office chair, sat blindly staring out in front of her as she saw the intricate, imperfect life she had built for herself come crashing down around her. Since she was a little girl growing up beside the Atwood family, she had dreamed of marrying their youngest, quiet, shy, handsome son, dreamed of turning a house into a home with him, dreamed of having children with the only man she had ever loved, dreamed of spending the rest of her life with him. Then, at the tender age of sixteen, they had stood up in the very same church she had taken her first communion and pledged their heart, soul, mind, and body to each other in front of God and her family. Though it had been flawed, in her memory it was still perfect, a pattern that would continue throughout her eleven year marriage.

She knew Ryan was unhappy, that there was something missing from his life that he needed to feel complete, but she was positive it was a baby, that as soon as he admitted that he wanted children and she could place their son or daughter in his arms, his eyes would finally fill with the same love she had always felt for him when he gazed upon her, and they would live happily ever after just like the fairytales her mother had read to her when she was a little girl.

Everything in her life was exactly as she had imagined it growing up….well almost. She had the man of her dreams, the house she had drawn pictures of or clipped out of magazines to hang on her private dream board in her room, the bakery her parents had always wanted to open in her possession, her shrine to their memory, and a comfortable lifestyle where she didn't have to worry about how she was going to pay the next month's mortgage or where she would find the money to buy groceries that week. A second generation, successful American, she had friends, the respect of her neighbors and colleagues, and the admiration of the people she had left behind in the old neighborhood years ago. There were just two things missing in her life, and they went hand in hand: a husband who returned her love and a child whom she could spoil and cherish, but now, after what she had found, those fantasies were destroyed, belittled, and tainted just as her life was.

Receipts, piles upon piles of tiny pieces of paper detailing the many purchases her husband had made for his mysterious, Seattle companion littered his desk, receipts for luggage, pajamas, plane tickets, credit card statements telling of fancy dinners, home cooked meals, and movie marathons from Seattle establishments paving a monthly story of infidelity for her swollen, tear filled eyes to read. It was as if he was living a whole other separate existence, an existence up until a few weeks before she had no knowledge of. The computer screen glowed brightly in the otherwise dim room, a history of correspondences, personal, private letters of friendship ringing of sexual innuendo and desire, betraying her husband's secret. It was all there: five months of lies, 151 days of dishonesty, hour after hour of deceit.

At first she had ignored her suspicions. After getting home the night she had literally ran into Ryan's boss, she had made up excuses for him, her heart incapable of accepting the truth. She told herself he liked the Seattle climate, that he was looking into surprising her with a second bakery there, making 'Saccharine Dreams' a chain, that he had become a fan of fresh water fishing and would retreat into the wilderness of Washington to escape the pressures of his job, but her mind wouldn't believe the lies forever, and, eventually, she erupted in a fit of suspicion and doubt, turning their house upside for information.

As more proof of his infidelity became apparent, fresh tears would spill out of her midnight black eyes, her own personal rain shower of misery to contradict the perfect weather gracing Southern California that March. For two weeks she had not stepped outside of her front door. The mail had filled their box to capacity, but, refusing to pick it up, she let the postman take it all back to the office to gather in a bin, ignoring the messages they left on her machine daily requesting she pick up their correspondence. The lawn grew unmanageable, the flower beds became choked with feeds, food spoiled in the fridge as she refused to eat, dust covered the furniture and floors, and dirty laundry piled up in dark corners of her bedroom, a room she refused to sleep in. The bakery existed on its own; she hadn't even called in to tell them she would be absent from work for a few days, so she ignored her managers' phone calls as well. There was just one voice she wanted to hear on her answering machine, one man's words of devotion and promises to see her soon, a sign that he missed her while he was away weeks on end for work, but Ryan never called. So, she roamed the house like a caged animal, destroying reminders of her hope and collecting signs of his affair.

Casting her eyes back to his computer screen, she saw for what might have been the tenth time that day so far that he was finally coming home that evening, but, as her eyes scanned his personal calendar, the most painful emails saved in his mailbox were tiled behind the professional organizer, tempting her to read them again. Memories of the sentences, phrases, words she had read repetitively for days straight assaulted her mind. 'Our home,' 'my very own key to our apartment,' 'I bought new sheets for our bed,' 'I have a surprise for you,' 'a weekend alone in Florida together,' 'hun,' 'honey,' 'baby,' 'sweetie,' 'can't wait to see you soon,' 'my sister says hi,' 'I had a dream about you last night,' 'love,' 'love,' 'love,' 'love,' 'love!,' every utterance shared between them made her heart shatter into tiny, unfixable pieces.

Letting out a rage filled, blinding shriek of horror, her arm swept across the desk, knocking the flat screen panel of her husband's computer onto the floor, the sound of it breaking making a smile form on her otherwise destroyed and distraught face. The destruction was soothing, comforting, and it was the least of what he deserved. Standing up, she threw everything else sitting on his desk, his mouse, his picture frames, his various pieces of sports memorabilia against the wall, watching the shards of glass rain down onto the floor in triumph. Grabbing every pen from his drawer, she moved around the desk and stabbed into the leather couch sitting opposite of the wooden work space, ripping and tearing shreds into the soft, expensive fabric. Still not satisfied, she tore a baseball bat hanging from the wall down and ran to the glass display case highlighting his most prized possessions, obliterating it with just a few well aimed swings. Minutes passed by, the morning turned into afternoon, and, methodically, Theresa made her way around the small study annihilating it past the point of recognition. By the time she finished, the room was filled with a mockingly bright light, the blinds ruined in her rage, and she was exhausted and breathless. Gently, she set the bat aside, pushing the rubble aside to clear a small patch of the floor. Lying down, she curled herself into a tight, protective ball, finally, after days of torture, capable of falling asleep. Ryan would be home soon; she would need her strength.

Walking through the airport, her carryon suitcase following obediently and orderly behind her, Marissa quickly made her way to the designated location she had told Ryan to meet her in the message she had left with him at the front desk. Smartly dressed in a conservative, confident knee length, form fitting dress with heals, she appeared as if she was about to go to a business meeting and not fly across country, but, determined to push for a resolution in their relationship, she needed to not only feel and be in control but look the part as well.

Taking a seat towards the front of the café she had chosen for their conversation, Marissa set her purse down and glanced at her watch, anxious for the meeting to be over so she could escape the haunting images Miami had left her with and go back to Seattle and continue putting her life in order. She was five minutes early though, so, after waving off the waitress who had appeared at her side to offer her a menu, she folded her hands in her lap and stared straight ahead preparing herself for what was to come and hoping Ryan would not be late. Her plane left in half an hour which meant she had a tight time table to stick with, and, if he wasn't on time, then their very important conversation would have to wait until the next time they saw each other, and who knew when that would be.

"Hey, I'm not late, am I," Ryan asked as he breezed into the small restaurant a few minutes later and took the seat across from her. Reaching over the span of the round table separating them, he went to take her hand in his, but she snapped her arms away quickly before he could touch her.

"We need to talk, Ryan."

"I know," he acknowledged, nodding his head in agreement, "and I know that's why you asked me here, but do you care if I go first?" Gesturing silently, she encouraged him to continue. "What happened back there, back on the beach," he inquired. "One minute we were having fun, enjoying each others company, and then the next minute you're bolting off, scared, as quickly as you can."

"What happened was that you were about to kiss me," Marissa answered him bitterly, her eyes flashing in anger, but her tone was low, personal, private.

"Don't deny that you didn't want to kiss me, too."

Exasperatedly, she threw up her hands. "Of course I wanted to kiss you! I've wanted nothing but to kiss you again, hold you, be with you since those precious moments we shared on the plane all those months ago, but I know that nothing can happen between us…at least not yet."

Narrowing the space between them, he leaned across the table. "And why not?"

"Because you're married, Ryan," Marissa exploded, scooting her chair back to get further away from his outstretched arms. "I refuse to let you cheat on your wife; I refuse to let you make me nothing more than your mistress. I deserve more from you!"

"That's not how I look at you," he argued with her becoming slightly frustrated, "but what do you want from me? I want to be with you, you want to be with me, so what's the problem? We've been dancing around our feelings for months, denying our attraction, and claiming we're just friends when we're anything but."

"You're right, I do want you, and do you know why?" When he didn't answer, she continued to push, explaining herself and wanting to elicit a reaction from him. "I can't just be your friend, because I'm in love with you. Every decision I make in my life revolves around you. I have this image in my mind of my future, and you're the man standing beside me, you're the man I see myself marrying and having children with. There's just one small problem: you're already married to someone else."

"So, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying you have a choice to make, Ryan. You need to figure out, once and for all, what you want…who you want. It's either me or your wife, but, until you make that decision, I need you to stay away from me. That means no phone calls, no emails, no surprise visits. If you choose to stay with Theresa," she said through tears, finally breaking down, "then I hope you find whatever in life you're searching for, that you learn to be happy, and that maybe someday, once I've moved on, we could honestly be friends, and, if you choose me, then I'll be waiting for you." Standing up, she took hold of her suitcase and lifted her purse onto her shoulder. "When you have your answer, you know where to find me."

As she went to walk away, her arm was suddenly restrained. Ryan had stood up and held her back. "Wait," he said breathlessly. "I…."

But she wouldn't listen to what he said. Interrupting him, Marissa insisted. "Don't say anything, not right now. This is too big of a decision for you to make lightly or quickly. In an hour, you're going to be boarding a flight home. Sit here while you wait for your boarding call and think about what you want. Rest on the plane ride and think some more. I just….you can't regret this decision, Ryan; you can't wake up a month from now and realize that you made the wrong choice and want to change it. What you decide is going to alter three lives forever." Offering him a small smile when he let go of her arm, she calmly ended their conversation. "Have a safe flight." With one last look at the man she was in love with, Marissa turned around, his image ingrained in her mind….just in case it was the last time she ever saw him.

There was an eerie, sinister glow to the night sky as Ryan stepped out of his car and walked up the pathway leading to the front door of his house. The sun had just set, and dusk was settling over the inland community, a murky, completely unnatural purple aura cloaking the early evening hours in mystery and apprehension. As he took in the shabby, unkempt appearance of his house, he knew there was something wrong. Quickly, he made his way inside, depositing his belonging at the foot of the stairs before wandering through the silent home.

"Theresa," he called out loudly feeling unnerved. "Are you here?"

There was no answer. He checked all about the house, looking in the places he would normally find her: the kitchen, the dining room, the laundry room, her craft room in the basement, their bedroom, the living room, even the spare bedroom that he knew she dreamed of making into a nursery someday. When he couldn't find her, he went and looked in the back yard, but still there was no sign of her. He knew her car was in the garage, so it only made sense that she was home. If there had been nothing else out of the ordinary, he would have just assumed she was out for a jog or sitting with one of neighbors, but Theresa took pride in their house; she would never let it become so disorderly and dirty. Determined to figure out what was going on, he made his way to his office, stopping suddenly in the doorway as the utter destruction of his study became apparent.

"Oh my god," he breathed out, his eyes surveying the damage in the dimly lit room. "What the hell happened here?" Walking into the ravaged space, he switched on the overhead light. He was rendered speechless at the sight before him. Turning around slowly in a circle, his feet crushing bits and shards of glass beneath the soles of his shoes, he could do nothing but stare in horror at the wreckage his prized possessions had been turned into. Sudden movement in a dark corner hidden with shadows caused him to jump in fright, his back slamming hard into the corner of his scratched and broken desk. "What the fuck do you want from me", he screamed in terror towards the second person in the room, their calm mocking his fright.

"Hello Ryan."

"Jesus Christ, Theresa," Ryan shouted, anger flashing through his eyes. "Were you trying to give me a heart attack? What were you doing hiding in the shadows?"

"You know I don't like that word," she chastised, moving slowly towards him, ignoring his questions.

Demanding to know what happened, Ryan pushed. "Did someone break in?"

"What would you say if I said yes?"

"I'd say why, what did they take," he responded, glancing around the room. Theresa's crazed laugh snapped him from his thoughts. "What's going on with you? You're acting really weird. And you never answered my question. Did someone break in?"

"No one broke in," she dismissed his concerns. "I did this, and what's going on is that you just failed your test."

"You did what?"

She, once again, ignored his concerns. "I wanted to see what your reaction would be if you thought someone had broken into our house while I was here…alone, whether or not you'd be concerned for me, but, instead of saying, 'are you alright, Theresa,' you were only concerned with your material possessions. I can't say that I'm surprised though."

Confused and irate, Ryan asked, "so you did all this, you destroyed seven years of my career and even more years of my life to stage a test for me? Are you fucking insane?"

"No," she answered smugly, "in fact, I'm finally seeing clearly for the first time in months. This," she motioned to the obliteration of his office, "is not the work of a crazed, deranged woman; this is the revenge of a scorned wife. What," she taunted, "are we suddenly at a loss for words?"

Resolutely, Ryan replied. "I never cheated on you."

"Bullshit," she yelled with conviction. "Don't lie to me Ryan!"

"I'm not lying to you. I did not have an affair."

"Well the fact that you asked for all the Seattle assignments tells me otherwise," she argued walking towards his desk. Picking up the dozens of receipts she found, she threw them at him. "These receipts reek of infidelity, and your computer files paint a very descriptive and detailed picture of an affair. So tell me," she pushed him, "if you weren't having an affair, just what the hell were you doing behind my back?"

"I….it's not what you think," he stammered over his words backing away from his incensed wife.

"Tell me who the fuck Marissa is, and I want to know the WHOLE story!"

Sighing, Ryan started to talk, turning his back on Theresa to look out the window at the peaceful outside world as that on the inside of his house fell apart. "We met five months ago on a plane ride from Columbus to Seattle. It was just your typical flight, nothing out of the ordinary, but then we started noticing the stewardesses moving around hastily, back and forth into the cockpit, and then they became upset. Before we knew what was happening, the plane was going down without proper landing equipment, and we thought we were going to die, but, in the middle of all that chaos, there was this beautiful woman who literally broke through my panic and fear….and we connected. It was like nothing I'd ever experienced before, but we both thought we were going to die, and I couldn't let that happen without, at least, kissing her just one time. So, I did. Obviously, we survived; the captain was able to make an emergency landing in a field. Even though I was able to leave the near death experience behind me after I climbed off the plane, I couldn't forget about the woman who had so captured my attention. From that point on, we started hanging out whenever I was in Seattle. I went up to see her on Halloween instead of staying here with you, I asked for a permanent assignment there so I could see her as often as possible, I had thanksgiving with her and her sister. When we celebrated Christmas together, she gave me a key to her apartment, and it became our place…together. We talked on the phone and sent emails back and forth. There were countless amounts of hugs, kisses on the cheek and forehead, and, starting at Christmas time, we began sharing a bed….platonically. Every time I would stay with her though, we were always fully dressed; after that first kiss on the plane, nothing inappropriate happened again, but, this weekend, it almost did. She met me in Florida, so we could spend some time together while I worked, and this afternoon, while we were at the beach, I almost kissed her; I wanted to kiss her so badly, but I didn't. I swear to you, Theresa, this is the truth. I NEVER cheated on you. I'm NOT having an affair."

"But you want to," she surmised. Ryan could no nothing but bow his head in agreement. Suddenly, the fire, the anger vanished from Theresa, and she was left only feeling hurt and betrayed. "Do you love her," she whispered. When Ryan refused to answer her question, she posed it again, replacing her soft tones with frenzied screams. "DO YOU LOVE HER?"

"Yes."

His answer was simple, to the point, and exactly what she had expected him to say. "Get out," she ordered, moving towards him threateningly.

"What," Ryan asked dazed by her demand. "Where do you want me to go?"

"I don't care where you go," Theresa cried out passionately. "Go back to your whore for all I care! I just want you….no I need you out of my sight."

"Wha….what does this mean," Ryan stuttered, feeling disorientated over how quickly his life had seemingly spun out of control. While the events leading up to the confrontation had taken months, everything was changing in matter of seconds. Backing up, he moved towards the foyer as Theresa followed him, pushing him closer and closer to their front door. "What about our marriage, my things, our house," he asked, motioning towards the very home he was speaking of, the home he had so blindly and contemptuously destroyed. "When you say get out, do you mean for the night? Am I supposed to come back tomorrow morning so we can talk about this? What do you want from me?"

Before answering, Theresa opened the door and motioned for Ryan to walk outside. Once he was beyond the entrance's threshold, she finally answered all of his questions with a single, simple statement. "I want a divorce." With that, she closed the door in her estranged husband's face, locking it, and walked away….for good. She had cried her last tear over Ryan Atwood.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: There were portions of this post that were hard for me to write, because, well, I have no experience with this. That said, it was a challenge. Months ago, Jess mentioned she would like to see this in a story, and I ran with it, and this is the result. For this particular, difficult scene, I imagined the song "Lebanese Blonde" by Thievery Corporation as the theme music. Anyway, enough chitchat, enjoy! BTW, there is just one post left to this story, but I'm planning on writing a sequel._

Charlynn

Chapter Nine

It hadn't taken Ryan long to figure out what he should do next. As soon as he saw the front door to the house he had called his own for the past few years close for what very well might be the last time, there was only one place he wanted to be. Walking to his car, his pace relaxed and calm, he opened his car door with one destination in mind: the airport. The airport would take him to Seattle, Seattle meant Marissa, and Marissa meant home. Really, he realized as he backed out of his former driveway, she was the only place he could run to.

In that moment, work did not matter, his concerns about his divorce or his material possessions disappeared, and he could finally breathe easy again for the first time in months. His life was free of secrets, and, more importantly, there were no major decisions to make. Instead of having to choose whether or not he wanted to remain in his eleven year marriage or end what he knew, what was familiar, what was safe for the unknown, for a real relationship where there was a possibility he could get hurt with Marissa, that decision had been made for him. Now he could be with the woman he was in love with, and he couldn't wait to tell her.

The lines at the airport seemed never ending, the plane ride deliberate and protracted, the drive to Marissa's apartment dawdling and lengthy, when, in fact, traffic was flowing smoothly that night. Ryan just knew what was waiting for him at Marissa's place…their place: the opportunity to finally touch her, possess her, feel her, be with her on every level a man and woman possibly could. He had been craving her for so long that, in his heart, it felt as if as long as he got there and walked through the doors, he would get everything he wanted. Realistically, he knew she was working that night, that he would be alone for several hours as he planned their evening for them, but the apartment represented his safe haven, a place he would finally be able to express everything he had been feeling since their fateful flight five months before.

Using HIS key to THEIR home, Ryan pushed open the door and walked into….an empty entryway. Suddenly, everything he had been counting on, the new sense of stability and support that Marissa was supposed to provide him with, disappeared as he realized she was packing. Box after box lined the otherwise bare walls of her living room. Although the furniture was still in its usual positions, any trace of comfort, of personality, of home had been removed from the apartment and locked away inside the labeled containers of Marissa's possessions.

What he had always feared was coming true: something unplanned, spontaneous, out of the ordinary had occurred and forced him to make hasty, rash decisions, and, now, it felt as if the life he was depending upon Marissa giving him was being taken away without him being consulted. It felt as if not only was he going to lose his marriage, his home, the life he had lived for eleven years, but he was also going to lose the fantasy of his life that was supposed to become his reality.

Falling to the floor, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and scanned the list of contacts. Someone, SOMEONE from the office should be able to help him find her; someone had to be sitting at their desk, avoiding their home life this late at night. Despite the fact that she would be home in mere hours, Ryan could not wait that long. He was scared, unsure, and nervous, and he needed her to reassure him now and not later that evening, which meant he was going to find her. Dialing that all too familiar number, he waited, standing up and pacing the small length of her apartment, for the click of the phone being picked up to signal his hope. When it did, he didn't even wait to hear their greeting, to find out who he was talking to for there was no time to waste.

"I need some information," he began quickly, opening the apartment door and running towards the elevator. "I need to know where a Marissa Cooper from Seattle works, and I need to know it now."

After one year of working backstage, cleaning up after the other girls and helping them get for their performances, after four years of hard work and embarrassing herself every night on a brightly lit stage, earning the respect of her boss and the freedom to make her own hours, and then after five years of managing the club herself, being in charge of the hiring, the costume decisions, the day to day details of running a business, Marissa Cooper was finally quitting the job that, while some would look down upon, had afforded her the opportunity to not only take care of herself but her kid sister as well, put her sister through college, and save enough money to go after her dream. Just as in life, the job had its drawbacks and its attributes, but, no matter what, she had been treated well, and it had made her the person she was that day.

Unfortunately though, her last night was not going to be peaceful or anything close to relaxing. One of her girls had called off sick at the last minute, leaving Marissa short handed and lacking a dancer. Normally, because Sunday nights were not that busy, they would just move up the other performances and close slightly earlier than normal, but, that night, there was a private bachelor party, the best man had rented out the entire club, and she would have to put on a barely there outfit and proceed to take it off while dancing on stage. It was definitely not the way she had planned to spend her final evening at work, but there was nothing she could do to change the fact that, for one last time, she would be a stripper. However, it was a small price to pay for the freedom she was about embrace starting the very next day.

She had finally picked the property she was going to invest in, turn into her life's work, and make her home. The next morning, she could call her realtor and inform her to place an offer. While she was waiting for the deal to go through, she would continue packing, planning, and preparing for her move. Even if her personal life was still uncertain, Marissa was not going to let that stop her from following her dreams and making them a reality. She hoped that eventually Ryan would be at her side for the journey she was about to take, but, if not, life would go on, she would move past him, and eventually, someday, she would fall in love again.

Until then though, it was time to fulfill her final responsibility. Staring into the lighted mirror in front her, Marissa was faced with a sight she hadn't seen in a long time. Her hair was up in a tight bun, but, as soon she would let it down during her set, it would hang freely down her back, slightly curly and full of body, giving it a saucy, seductive movement when she walked or danced. The makeup covering her naturally beautiful face was dark and alluring, giving her a mysterious, tantalizing air, while her costume in an of itself was an oxymoron. She was a sexy librarian and had been since the very first time she had taken the stage all those years before. The owner had told her she had the eyes of a child, innocent and dewy, to use that in her performance, and she would instantly be a success. She had been right. Taking one last deep breath, she pushed herself up from her seat and made the long walk down the hallway that would lead her backstage. Smirking to herself, she whispered, _break a leg, Marissa_, climbing the stairs and pushing open the curtain, suddenly stepping into the fantasy she would have to create.

Ryan had a bad feeling about this. It had taken his co-worker just a few minutes to search for Marissa's personal information online, his snickers before he provided him with an answer the first thing that had set Ryan on edge. The second was the name of the club Marissa worked at: **Bliss**. When he had given the cab driver the name of the place he was headed, his wink and smirk, the third thing that had put him on guard, had been enough to make Ryan grit his teeth and clench his fists. Just knowing what the driver was thinking, perhaps even imagining Marissa in his mind, made his blood boil. He tried to calm down, he tried to tell himself he was overreacting, jumping to conclusions, that, even if it was a strip club, she was their accountant….their costume designer….or even the bartender, anything to ease the tension building in his body at the thought of other men seeing the woman he was in love naked.

The cab had pulled up to the club several minutes before, but he was frozen in his seat. Already, still inside of the car, he could hear the pounding, pulsating music emanating from inside the dark depths of the building before him; he could feel a sense of lust and desire in the air, the dream world he had created in his mind during the flight to Seattle for he and Marissa to share crumbling quickly before his very eyes. Ignoring some rude, nonsense comment the driver made to him, Ryan tossed him enough money to barely cover his fair let alone a tip, and exited the car, his movement towards the club powerful, surreptitious, calculated, like a wild animal on the hunt. He had to be prepared for anything.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the interior of the dark building, its only illumination coming from the bright, florescent stage lights and the dull glow of the bar in the far off corner of the large space. The haze of smoke stung his eyes bringing tears to them quickly that he had to blink away; the stench of liquor was so overwhelming he had to readjust his senses before furthering his way into the club. He had to admit, it was classy. Everything was lush, the décor, the outfits the scantily clad waitresses wore, the design of the set, the high end quality of the endless liquor bottles lining the largest, best stocked bar he had ever seen. Settling himself in the back on a black velvet chair and ottoman, he sat away from the various occupants and costumers, watching their every move, looking for Marissa, and preparing himself for what he would say to her when they did see each other, eventually, once again. However, eventually turned into immediately as a beautiful, shy, blonde woman walked discreetly onto the stage just as the curtain opened to reveal the set of a library.

He watched as Marissa casually walked behind the desk and sat down, opening a book and pretending to read it while the music changed into a slower, sensual song that was unfamiliar to Ryan. It was as if he was observing a private moment that was intended for no one to see, as if he were a voyeur stalking the woman of his affections as she gave in to her lustful instincts believing she was all alone. She peered around her cat eye glasses, slipping them off when it appeared as if she was by herself, letting her hands run up to her tightly controlled hair and removing the sole pin that was keeping it in place. As her luxurious hair fell down her back, it was as if she was suddenly freed of the constraints upon her personality, and she transformed from an unsure, self-conscious girl to a commanding, flirtatious woman.

Standing up her body glided across the room, her hips subtly swaying to the erotic beat of the music as her hands found their way to the buttons of her very proper, very intellectual suit jacket. When it was free of her body, hooked on the end of her long, thin finger, she, once again, checked to make sure no one was watching her as she let it drop effortlessly to the floor. Turning her back to the audience, it was as if she didn't know they existed, and she continued to dance to the song that was loosening her inhibitions, only turning around when her shirt was partially unbuttoned, revealing her seemingly innocent, simple bra, its sheer material only appearing transparent when her breasts moved just the right way in the bright, forever moving beams of light, but she refused to undress further. Instead, she moved her hands to her hair, running it through her fingers as she continued to bend to the music, kicking off her high heals and throwing her head back in ecstasy, the realistic, naïve motions of her seductive dance more intriguing than anything Ryan had ever seen before.

Once again, she checked her surroundings to make sure she was still alone, biting her lip like a nervous child, before pushing the papers and supplies off of her desk and sliding her body on top of it so that only her profile could be seen. Reticently, she ran her hands up her legs and underneath her skirt, slowly pulling down the thigh high hose she was wearing, her legs poised and positioned to be as graceful as possible. As each tanned, toned limb was revealed to his starving eyes, Ryan found himself lost in the fantasy, forgetting that Marissa was not performing to entice him but for a paying audience of strange men who knew nothing about her, the woman she was, and that what made her even sexier than the body she was leisurely revealing was the way she loved with her whole heart, the way she loved him.

Descending the large, masculine desk, she sauntered her way behind an opaque screen, the light shining into it casting a shadow over her body as she slipped the tight fitting, knee length skirt off of her ravishing, curvaceous form. She tossed the tweed clothing over the top of the screen before walking out from behind it, peaking around the sheltering form first to make sure, yet again, that no one was present, dressed solely in her lingerie with the crisp white, partially unbuttoned Oxford shirt hanging loosely on her frame. But as she moved across the stage, her hands continuing to tease and torment as the final buttons were unhurriedly opened, Ryan was snapped from the vision before him. That was as far as it could go; he could not sit by and let other men look at Marissa, HIS Marissa, as she made her body vulnerable and helpless against their indecent ideas and lustful thoughts.

Jumping up from his seat, he moved swiftly towards the bar and the woman behind it, hoping she would be able to help him. "I want her off that stage now," he demanded, his words gruff and harsh.

"Yeah, sure," she agreed before laughing dismissively, "when her set's over."

"You don't understand," Ryan pushed, following her along the gleaming mahogany as she walked away from him, "she has to get off that stage. I'll do anything."

"There's nothing you can do."

Continuing to argue and pulling out his wallet at the same time, he pointed out, "there's always something. How much do you want? I have three weeks' pay, in cash, just sitting here in my wallet. That's almost $3500, and I have several credit cards with high limits on all of them. I'll give it all to you right now if you just get her off of that stage so I can see her privately."

The exotic brunette stared at him closely for several seconds as Ryan's line of vision snapped back and forth between the stage and the bar as he continually checked Marissa to make sure her routine had not gone too far.

"Fine," she answered, her hand moving to shut off the music and turn off the lights. Over the loud complaints emanating from the private party in front of the stage, she yelled, "follow me," signaling for Ryan to walk behind her. "Our rate is normally $250 an hour for a private session, so if you want a dancer for yourself for the rest of the night, plus special compensation for me and the other girls, because we're going to have to cover for her, it's going to cost you all that cash in your wallet."

Without evening blinking an eye, he shoved the wadded up bills into her warm palm, moved into the curtained off room she showed him to, and waited, nervously, for Marissa to join him. He had no idea what he would say or do when he saw her, how to react to the revelation that she was a stripper, nor did he even know what he felt about the situation. He was, all at one time, relieved, worried, angry, proud, in love, annoyed, aroused, jealous, apprehensive, and scared, but, before he could gain control of his emotions, she was there, backing her way into the private room as she closed the curtain, dressed in nothing but her French cut, white lingerie and a gossamer robe. Instinctively, he moved towards her, slipping his hands around her hips and pulling her warm, supple body into his only to have it violently wrenched away.

"Rule number one," she responded curtly, "never put your hands on me. You're here to watch, not touch. Do you understand?"

Undeterred, he moved, once again, to stand directly behind her, just far enough away so that he was not touching her. Leaning over so his breath could blow against her creamy neck, he whispered in her ear. Suddenly, the only emotion he was feeling was blinding rage. "Well, it's good to know that even though you would let other men, any man, with enough money look at your naked body when I couldn't even kiss you, you wouldn't let them touch you."

He had never seen someone move so quickly in his life. Whirling around to face him, Marissa stood before him, embarrassed, her hands tightly pulling her think dressing gown around her exposed body while her eyes filled with regretful, apologetic tears. Too shocked to say anything else, she merely gasped, "Ryan," before backing away from him and curling herself into a right ball on the couch as she sat down, her gaze never once meeting his. Sitting down beside her, he took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself down. Yelling at her wouldn't solve anything; becoming self-righteous and irate would not give him answers.

"I'm sorry," she finally broke the silence, refusing to look up at him as she anxiously played with her shaking fingers, ringing them together tightly, despite the pain, in order to remain composed.

"Sorry for what," he asked none too gently, "sorry that you take your clothes off in front of men for money or sorry for not telling me?"

Her beautiful, deep pools of sapphire abruptly snapped up to meet his. No longer full of misery and regret, he was taken aback by just how enraged she had become, and it was obvious he had overstepped and said something wrong.

"Don't," she threatened, scrambling to back away from him. "Do not sit there in judgment of me! Maybe I should have told you about my job, maybe it was wrong to keep it from you, but did you EVER even ask me what I did for a living? Did you ever care enough to figure it out before now? And, more importantly, we are not dating! That means, I don't have to tell you everything. You're married, remember, and the fact that you've been leading me on for months when you're not even sure if you're going to leave your wife is definitely worse than me keeping this secret. Yeah, okay," she played the devil's advocate for herself, "I'm a stripper. I get paid to debase myself and take my clothes off for strange men, but not all of us have our mother-in-law to help take care of us at sixteen when life serves us a raw deal. I was a teenager with a kid sister to take care of. I never graduated from high school, there was no chance I'd be able to go to college, and I didn't want to have to depend upon the government to pay my way, so, yes, I became a stripper. It paid well, it gave Caitlyn her college education, and it's given me the life I live today. If you don't like it, well, I'm sorry, but this is who I am, take it or leave it. Do you think I like the idea that you travel so much, that even if we end up together someday, there could be weeks when I won't get to see you? Of course I don't, but I don't love you for your job; I love YOU for YOU, and I can only be with someone who feels the same way about me."

Standing up, she gave him one last glance before turning around to leave him alone, but, before she could even open the curtain to escape the suffocating tension of the private room, his gentle hand laced with one of her own, urging her to turn back around to face him.

His voice was soft and shaking, but his eyes told her he was sure about what he was about to say. "I love you, too," Ryan whispered, easing her body closer to his.

"We can't do this," she sniffled, unable to hold back her tears. "You're married, and I…."

But that's as far as he let her get. Cutting off her words, Ryan delicately joined their lips together. Skin on skin, mouth on mouth, their two separate worlds exploded into one, and from that moment on, they knew they would forever be connected to one another. No matter what happened with their relationship or where their lives would take them, neither Ryan nor Marissa would ever be able to forget the other. What they shared meant too much.

"I'm not married," he finally explained pulling away from her, breathless, "well, at least, I won't be soon. Theresa and I….we're getting a divorce. I love you; I want to be with you."

Before Ryan could say anything more, she was in his arms in an endless embrace, both of them never wanting to part again.

It was late. Sitting alone in the dark living room of their otherwise empty and depressing apartment, Ryan waited for Marissa to return from work. After she promised him that she would not get back on stage, that she would be home as soon as she could close the club, he had agreed to leave and go back to the apartment where she would join him as soon as she could. There was something she wanted to tell him, share with him, explain, and it was important that he understood everything about her before they took their relationship any further. With one last kiss, she slipped the money he had paid too see her alone back into his pocket and sent him on his way. Now, hours later, despite her reassurances, fear and doubt were starting to creep into Ryan's mind once again.

Sure, she had promised him she wouldn't strip again that night, but would he be able to handle the idea of her doing that for a living night after night, imagining the woman he was in love with, the woman he hoped to make his girlfriend and eventually start a family with taking her clothes off for any man but him? And, if not, if he couldn't accept it, where would they go from here? How could they have a relationship together if he couldn't respect her independence and choices? Plus, there was still the unexplained boxes littering the apartment. Why was she packing? Where was she going? When was she leaving? Why hadn't she told him about it?

Snapping him out of his thoughts, he heard her key unlock the front door. Silently, he sat there, merely watching her as she moved effortlessly towards him, a relaxed, confident, content smile resting regally on her gorgeous face. "It's okay, Ryan," she reassured him, taking his hand and pulling him to walk down the hallway with her. "Trust me, everything is going to be fine." He couldn't help but chuckle at how well she could read him. "I know," she continued, stopping in front a room he had never been into, one that he assumed was simply for storage, "you have a lot of questions, and we have a lot to talk about, but, first, there's something I want to show you."

Pushing open the door, she indicated that he should walk in first. The moonlight streamed brightly in through the one, lone window in the small, spare room, making it so that it was not necessary to turn the lights on, and it reflected off of the dozens of full length mirrors on the walls and ceiling.

"What," Ryan turned to look at Marissa was who carefully watching him from the doorway, "what is this?"

"This," she answered, gliding into the room effortlessly and twirling around like a little girl with her hands up, spontaneously, in the air, "is my dance studio. Do you remember that dream I told you about on New Years Eve, the one that I was ready to go after?" He could only nod positively in response, already lost in her words and expressions. "Well, this is my dream," she explained the room, "dancing. No little girl sets out wanting to be a stripper when she's innocent and full of fantasies for when she's an adult, and I was no different. I wanted to be a world famous ballerina, and what any Newport daughter wanted, she got. My parents immediately enrolled me into every dance class I requested, and I loved it. I was graceful, elegant, and, when I was dancing, everything around me disappeared and I was in heaven. It's the most amazing feeling in the world, performing, but, when my Dad committed suicide and there was no money left, the dance lessons stopped, the magic went away, and my dream came crashing down around me. I was supposed to study ballet, perform in The Royal Ballet at The Royal Opera House in London, become a world wide sensation, but, instead, I had to fight for my life and my little sister's future. So, I took a job at a strip club, working behind the scenes until I was old enough to dance on stage as well. It was tacky, low class, and demeaning, but, sometimes, when the right note was sounded, when the lights blinded me from seeing the audience, when I got lost in my performance, I was back on that ballet stage again, and I knew that I would never be able to give up on dance forever. But, now that I have enough money saved to go to college, I'm too old to study ballet, but that doesn't mean I can't teach it. My dream, Ryan," she told him with pride and enthusiasm in her voice, "is to open up my own dance studio, to share my love for the art with a new generation of little ballerinas, and hope that, someday, I'll be able to sit at The Royal Opera House in London and watch one of my former students reach my former dreams and their own. That's why I'm packing. Tomorrow morning, at 8:00, as soon as my realtor opens the doors to her office, I'm calling in my offer on a property that I want….us," she admitted, blushing slightly, "to share, to build a life together there." Approaching him, she leaned their foreheads together as her timid, hopeful eyes searched his, their lashes brushing together. "Talk to me," she pleaded with him. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Ryan didn't know what to say in response to her tragically beautiful story, and the fact that she wanted to share her new dreams with him, that she saw them together building a life from scratch as a couple, it meant more to him than everything else in the world other than the fact that she loved him. Exhaling slowly, he moved his hands to cup her face, bringing her lips to his. "You're so beautiful," he breathed into her mouth before melding their essences together. The embrace they shared said everything he couldn't and more, and, in that moment, they both knew this was their moment, the moment they had been waiting for, needing, craving, fantasizing of since the day months before when he had, for the very first time, kissed her.

Breaking their embrace, he stepped away from her only enough so that his eyes could ravish her entire body, taking in every nuance, every detail of her figure as his hands slid from her face, down her arms, and onto her torso, the moonlight bathing her in an aura of purity and grace. Slowly, their gazes locked together the entire time, he unbuttoned her shirt, clasp by clasp from the bottom to the top, sliding it off her delicate shoulders and letting it fall to the floor when he was finished. Returning his hands to her waist, he lifted the silk camisole she had been wearing underneath her blouse, leaving her in nothing but her jeans and bra when he was finished. Still, their eyes remained linked together in an almost desperate look of shared, unbridled passion. While one hand slipped the straps of her lingerie down to rest on her upper arms, his other hand unfastened the front clasp of her bra, the silken material falling off her body to leave her aroused, vivacious breasts exposed and defenseless to the night air and his welcome obsession. Running his hands down her body, he stopped them at the waist line of her pants, unhooking the buttons, freeing her from the constraints of, yet another, piece of clothing. With his help, the jeans fell to the floor, pooling around her bare feet until she, without looking, kicked them away. Finally, he removed the final piece of material keeping her body from his possession, slipping her panties off her round, firm derrière and pushing them off her body completely.

Even as she stood in front of him completely nude, Ryan still never broke his gaze away from hers. Just as he had done for her, he felt her hands slowly start to unbutton his shirt, sliding it off of his powerful shoulders to reveal his signature wife beater. That, too, was quickly shed, as she pulled the thin, white tank top over his head, tossing it aside before deftly moving her hands to the edge of his pants. Instead of removing them right away though, she ran her silky smooth fingers gently around his waist, teasing and taunting him as she dipped the tips of them inside the confines of the jeans to toy with his boxers. Before her actions could get too carried away though, she slipped her hands back outside of his pants and unclasped them, their loose fit helping them to slide right off. When he was standing in just his underwear, she hooked her index fingers into their waist band to slowly, inch by inch creep them off his muscular frame, revealing him slowly.

Finally, they were both completely exposed, their bodies vulnerable to the others hands and desires, but, just like before, they kept their gazes fixated on each other. Blindly, they felt their lover's body, letting their fingers explore every inch of each other, arousing their need to a level neither had experienced before, that neither could imagine experiencing with anyone else. Eventually though, the simple embraces of their hands were not enough, and, wordlessly, their eyes communicating for them, they joined together, once again, their mouths blending into a seamless, never-ending fusion of both of their senses. Supporting each other, their bodies fell to the ground, and, with their eyes opened for every powerful, beautiful moment, Ryan made love to Marissa long into the early morning hours, their reflections dancing back at them in the many mirrors surrounding their coupled bodies.

This was heaven; this was a feeling Marissa could get used to and, yet, never tire of. Resting with her head on Ryan's chest, their breathing finally returning to normal, her body was completely on top of his as he held her tightly to him. Not wanting the moment to end yet, willing sleep away, her fingers traced senseless patterns onto his glistening chest.

"Can you believe everything's that has happened in the last 24 hours," she giggled, realizing it herself as she reflected back over the past day. "We had our erotic, almost kiss on the beach, our conversation in the airport, you went home to California and chose me, I had my final day at the club after ten years of working there, we survived our first real fight….as a couple, and, last but certainly not least, we made love for the first time."

"And the second…and the third," Ryan added, grinning at the thought. Tilting her face towards his, he kissed her lips softly before agreeing with her. "Yeah, but I know what you mean. It's weird," he continued, becoming lost in thought, "after months of really nothing happening, of just….existing in this sort of strange, intimidating uncertainty, everything has changed so quickly. To think, what if Theresa hadn't of figured things out?" As Marissa moved to sit up, resting her elbow on his chest to look down at him, he never noticed her change of position and kept talking. "What if she hadn't been waiting to confront me when I walked into my office? What if she hadn't of asked me for a divorce? Would we still be here? Would this still be happening?

"What do you mean she asked you for a divorce," Marissa demanded, sitting up and moving away from his body. "I thought YOU wanted the divorce, that YOU chose me?"

"I did…I do want you," Ryan answered her quickly, reaching out to bring her back into his arms. Marissa could see him visibly flinch when she pulled away.

"But you didn't chose me," she surmised, standing up and reaching for her discarded clothes. With them in her arms, she turned, once again, towards a still very much naked and exposed Ryan lying on her floor. "Who asked for the divorce?" When he didn't say anything, she knew the answer, but she needed to hear him say the words anyway. "WHO ASKED FOR THE DIVORCE?!"

Dropping his gaze, he responded, his voice nothing but a shell of its former self. "She did."

"Get out!"

"Wha…what," he gasped, shocked. Standing up, he moved towards her, fear laced throughout his entire countenance. "What do you mean get out? Where am I supposed to go? What am I supposed to do? What about us? Marissa, I love you!"

"And I love you, too, Ryan," she sobbed, "but I don't want to be your second choice, your consolation prize. I thought you had picked me, that you had weighed your options and realized that our relationship, that I meant more to you than the stability of your marriage, but I was wrong. You only came to me when Theresa wouldn't have you any longer!"

"That's not how it is," he argued with her. "I didn't even get a chance to think about what I wanted, who I was going to chose. As soon as I got home, she was there, confronting me, demanding a divorce. She didn't even give me a chance to get my things or to talk to her about her decision."

"And instead of then thinking about what you wanted," Marissa pointed out, the hurt evident in her tone, "you just did what was easy; you came to me without even listening to a word I said to you at the airport, because you're afraid to be alone. Well, I'm sorry, Ryan, I want….no, I deserve more than that. Please, just leave."

He didn't though. As Marissa turned her back on him and got dressed, she could feel his presence behind her, and, she knew, if she looked up into the mirrors, she would be able to see him, too. Finally dressed, her heart and vulnerability hidden away behind a shield of regret, she turned back around to face the only man she had ever loved in her whole life.

"Marissa," he began, taking a step towards her until she held up her hand to stop him. "Can we….I don't know….talk about this?"

"We have done nothing but talk for five months before tonight," she dismissed his request. "Words cannot fix what your actions broke, Ryan. Go back to your wife; go back to Theresa, to the constancy and steadiness she provides you with, go back to a life without risk, without fear, without really living. I don't want you anymore."

Leaving him alone in the room, she walked passed him and entered her bedroom, closing the door and locking it securely behind her. Sliding down the wooden surface, she sat silently against the door waiting to hear what he would do, and, just like she suspected, not even a minute later, she heard her front door being shut for the last time by Ryan Atwood. Once again, just like always, she was alone, but, unlike him, at least she wasn't a coward.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Well, here it is, the final chapter to this story. This post is shorter than most I write, but it is a connection piece that bridges the gap between the last chapter and the sequel that will eventually follow this story. Although it is left very ambiguous, you will get resolution in the next arc of this tale. However, that said, I will not be writing it immediately. Replacing this story will be a continuation of the one shot, "A Deceitful Web of Seduction," because you deserve some fluff and fun. This is probably not what most of you wanted to see happen in this story, but it's a gradual process. Always remember, at the end of the day, I am a Ryan and Marissa supporter. Thanks for sticking with this story, reading it, and, for those of you who leave comments, they're definitely appreciated! Enjoy!_

Charlynn

Chapter Ten

"Caity," Marissa Cooper called out to her younger sister as she knocked on her back, screen door.

"Come in," a warm voice called from inside, "but don't expect me to get up to answer the door for you. Oh, and if you want something to eat or drink," she added, laughing self-deprecatingly at herself, "you know where the fridge is. I've decided that until this whale is out of me, I'm not moving off of this couch."

Walking into the living room of her sister's house, Marissa attempted to hold back her giggles, but it was impossible. There, lounging on the couch as she had stated, sat Caitlyn, in nothing but a large pair of her husband's boxers and a tank top stretched tightly over her round, swollen abdomen. There were about half a dozen fans placed around the room, all of them pointed in her direction, and just by the cool chill in the air, Marissa knew the air conditioning was cranked as high as it would go.

"Well that will be fun for Jackson," she finally responded after getting control of her mirth, which Caitlyn just merely rolled her eyes at as Marissa sat down opposite her on a large armchair and pulled a blanket down to keep herself warm in the frigid temperatures of the room. "I guess it will be training for him when you're potty training and Jr., there," she motioned towards her sister's pregnant belly, "wets the bed."

"You're the only family I have, and I'm miserable and look terrible. You're supposed to be nice to me."

"But this is much more fun." When Caitlyn pouted, Marissa threw up her hands to signify she'd give in. "Alright, you big baby, is there anything you want me to get you while I'm here? I can't stay long, but I wanted to come and check in on you. I know that Jackson is gone for a couple of days on business." Caitlyn's husband of four years, a client she had met at the Vet's office she worked at, was a pilot who flew international flights for the Atlanta airport. "Where's he traveling to this time?"

"Berlin," Caitlyn answered, "and he's under strict orders to bring me home some of their good booze for when I celebrate popping this little one out."

"Classy," Marissa teased.

"Enjoy your kicks now, because we'll see who has the last laugh when Aunt Marissa is babysitting and Mommy Caitlyn is knocking back some good, authentic German beer."

Ignoring her sister's comment, Marissa changed the subject. "So, have we gotten any further along on the name front?"

"Well, it would help if Jackson wasn't such a pain in the ass demanding we don't find out the sex," Caitlyn complained, "but, besides that, I think we have it narrowed down to about twenty different options."

"Wow, very decisive of you." Before Caitlyn could retort, Marissa kept talking. "If you ever need help, I'm very opinionated."

"Something I'm well aware of already."

Standing up, Marissa folded the blanket she was using. "Despite this little conversation of ours being just the icing to my already stellar day, I have places to be and people to see that, frankly, are more entertaining than you."

"Oooohhh," Caitlyn exclaimed, taunting her, "what are you and Bailey up to tonight?"

"Just the usual," Marissa explained, rooting through her large, almost duffle sized, purse. "He's going to hang out with me at work during my classes, we'll have dinner, and we'll probably finish the night just watching television together. If you would have been nice to me today, I would have invited you along."

"Thanks but no thanks," Caitlyn dismissed, reaching for the basket of chocolates sitting out on her coffee table. Instead of grabbing it herself though, Marissa picked the basket up and handed it to her. "I don't want to be the third wheel."

"Suit yourself, but I really do have to get going. Last chance though to ask me for a favor." When her sister didn't say anything, Marissa turned her back to leave, but, not even two steps towards the door to the living room, Caitlyn's voice rang out behind her.

"Wait, now that you mention it…."

"Uh huh," Marissa agreed, smirking, "just as I thought. What do you need me to get you?"

"Well," Caitlyn began, flashing her older sister a dazzling smile in hopes of pacifying her, "I'm actually really thirst."

"You don't say! That wouldn't be because you're inhaling those chocolates as if you haven't eaten in a month?"

Waving off her comment, Caitlyn pressed on. "But there's nothing to drink in the fridge except water and pop. Pop makes my feet swell, and water sounds boring. However, I do have some iced tea mix in the cupboard, so if you wanted to be a really nice sister, you'd make it for me." Just as Marissa started moving towards the hallway that would take her towards the kitchen, Caitlyn's voice stopped her again. "Oh, and if it's not too much to ask, could you bring me the take out menus in the top drawer of my desk. I'm not sure where I'm ordering from or what I'm getting, so I need to do a little studying. Also, I don't want to have to get up when the delivery boy gets here, so, if you would, could you leave him a note asking him to just bring the food in to me. Plus, if you're not in too much of a hurry to leave, I'm dying in here, it's so hot, so it'd be great if you'd turn the thermostat just a little bit lower and bring down the box fan that's up in my bedroom. That's all….I think." Marissa merely watched her for a moment waiting to see if she would think of anything else, and, when it appeared Caitlyn was satisfied with the list, she went to move, once again, towards the kitchen. "Oh, and one more thing," Caitlyn spoke up making Marissa sigh in exasperation, "if I made you a tiny, easy shopping list for the grocery store, would you pick the supplies up for me tonight and drop them off in the morning when you come to check on me? Please?"

"I'll make you a deal," Marissa bargained, "I'll do your grocery shopping for you if….and only if….you DILIGENTLY work on a list of possible baby names. I want it narrowed down to five by the time I get here tomorrow."

"Hard nosed, demanding, drill sergeant," Caitlyn complained under her breath as she shook her head to show agreement.

"All I have to say," Marissa concluded their conversation as she walked out of the living room, "is that it better be a long time before you have another kid, and, eventually, one of them better be named after me."

The last thing she heard was her sister's laughter echoing through the large, high ceiling house. It was a beautiful sound.

Six years. Six years of silence, sex, and sports. That had been Ryan Atwood's life, and, for some men, that would have been enough. Hell, at one point in his life, it would have been enough for him, too, but after her…after Marissa, that basic, unsatisfying existence no longer sustained him, and he knew that, one way or another, today would be his breaking point.

Just as Marissa had told him to do the night she had kicked him out of her apartment, her life, he had gone back to Theresa. He knew she wouldn't believe any declarations of love or promises of devotion, so he had approached her with a business deal when she finally answered the door to him early that Monday morning, swearing to her that if she took him back, if she forgot the idea of divorce, he would do anything and everything in his power to give her the one thing she wanted more than his love: a child. It had worked.

From that moment on, his life became a monthly cycle. Twenty five of the thirty days in most months, he would be on the road, working, giving Theresa her peace and privacy to live her life on her own. They didn't speak; they didn't communicate. While she ran her bakery and lived alone in their large, family home, he stayed in hotels, living out of suitcases; his only distraction from his regrets was the endless line of sporting events he had to cover. To make matters worse, those games that had been so important to him for much of his life suddenly meant nothing to him. They were just a living, just a paycheck, a means to an end. While he was gone from their house, Theresa only demanded one thing of him. He could have his affairs, physical or emotional, she really didn't care, just as long as he never conceived a child with another woman. She wouldn't share her baby's father.

Not many men were told by their wives to sleep with as many women as they wanted, but Ryan never once took her up on her offer. The only woman he wanted had turned him away. Six months after he had reunited with Theresa, he had made a trip back to Seattle to try and find Marissa. Even if he couldn't be with her, he still wanted to make sure she was happy, that she was safe, that she was better off without him. However, there was no trace of her. He had asked her neighbors in the apartment complex, checked with every realtor in the city, gone and looked for her at her favorite stores and restaurants, and he had even gone back to the strip club to inquire if any of her former co-workers had heard from her. No one knew anything. It was like she had disappeared completely. Although he could have easily searched for her online, that felt wrong. If she wanted to get away from him so badly she broke all ties with the city she had lived in for eleven years, then he needed to respect her decision.

Sitting in a doctor's office, his chair as far away from Theresa's as possible, Ryan wondered what Marissa was doing at that same exact moment. Was she seeing anyone, perhaps she was married? Did she have children? Were she and Caitlyn still as close? Was Caitlyn still a little spitfire? Where was she living? Did she have her dance studio she dreamed of? There were so many questions, all of which he would never learn an answer to.

He knew he should be listening to what the specialist said, that he should care about the details and the test results, but all he needed was a yes or no answer. They had already tested him; he was perfectly capable of having children. But, sixteen months had gone past since his results had come back positive, and still there was no baby. Drawing the line, he had demanded Theresa be tested for there was no sense in prolonging the inevitable if she couldn't conceive. It had been six years since they had started honestly trying for a child, and, in those six years, his suspicions about their marriage had turned into almost certainties. At this point, he just wanted the proof to back up his beliefs. So, as he tuned out the conversation his wife was having with their fertility specialist, he waited for his chance to ask. Could she have a baby? If yes, then he would stand by his word and keep trying with her, but, if not, well then two things would be certain. One, she had scammed him into their marriage, and, two, there would be no reason for him to stay with her any longer.

Finally, there was a lull in the discussion, so he cleared his throat and spoke up. "I don't understand all these medical terms," he stated decisively, "so let's just cut to the chase, shall we? Without an explanation, without unnecessary banter, in a yes or no answer, tell me, can Theresa have a baby?"

Looking Ryan straight in the eye, the doctor's answer was crisp and clear. "No."

"Thank you," Ryan responded, standing up and moving towards the door, "that's all I needed to know."

"What," Theresa questioned him, jumping up and running after his retreating figure. "Why are you leaving? That's not the end of it; we do have options."

Correcting her, Ryan stated, "No, you're wrong. It is the end of it. I don't want to talk about adoption or fertility treatments. I have tried to give you a baby for six years; SIX YEARS of my life has been wasted for nothing! I don't know if you were in denial or if you just wanted to pay me back for falling in love with another woman, but I refuse to give you even one more day of my life." Stopping suddenly, he turned back to look at her, unable to control his laughter. "This is just….perfect," he declared sarcastically. "The only reason I married you in the first place seventeen years ago was because you told me you were pregnant, and, now, look at my life. I ruined the only good thing that ever happened to me, because I never really grew up and learned to take responsibility for my own decisions. Well, that stops now."

Just as he pulled the door open, Theresa's voice made him turn around to look at her. "Where are you going? What are you going to do?"

"Well, if you really want to know," Ryan revealed, shrugging his shoulders in a carefree, easy mood, "I'm going back to the house to clean out the gutters." When she went to ask a question, he continued to explain. "I want a divorce, and it makes no sense for you to buy out my share of the house. The place is simply too big, and, I imagine, you'd want something smaller closer to the bakery. So, that means we need to get it ready to sell. I'm going to start this afternoon by cleaning out the gutters, I'll work on it for the next week or so doing odd jobs, and, when I'm done, I'll pack up my stuff and be gone."

"But….you hate cleaning the gutters," Theresa questioned him. "You always complain about it every single time I ask you to do it. Aren't you scared of heights?"

"I was," Ryan admitted, nodding his head in agreement, "but I've realized my fear of falling is gone, that it made no sense in the first place. You see, falling….well, it was the best thing that ever happened to me, and, suddenly, I'm not afraid of it anymore."

"I don't," Theresa stuttered, confused, "I don't understand. What are you talking about, Ryan?"

"It's not important," he dismissed, offering her a sympathetic smile. "There's only one person who would appreciate that statement, and my fear stole her away from me." He walked into the hallway, actually whistling he felt so content, but, before he made it to the elevators, he turned around and went back to the doctor's still open doorway to see two very stunned and speechless people staring at the empty space he had been occupying before. "Oh, and just in case I don't see you later," he addressed his soon-to-be ex-wife, "have a good life, Theresa. Maybe now you'll finally be able to find someone who will love you the way you deserve to be loved." And, with that, Ryan Atwood left his wife of seventeen years, knowing it was the first, important decision he had ever made on his own.

Pulling up along side the tall, brick building, Marissa couldn't keep the smile she felt forming on her face from lighting up her whole countenance. It had only been a few hours since she had seen him last, but they were inseparable. Not only was Bailey her best friend, but he was the love of her life, the missing piece she had been searching for years to complete her, and, she knew, she, too, meant everything in the world to him.

She was right on time, so it didn't take long before she saw him walking out with a friend at his side, the two of them lost in discussion. Unbuckling her seat belt, she climbed out of her car and started walking towards him. Suddenly, for some reason, she couldn't wait just a few more seconds to see him. As soon as he saw her, he took off running, ignoring the oblivious, rambling boy he had been talking to, jumping into her arms and giving her the tightest hug possible for his little arms.

"Mommy," he exclaimed excitedly, "I missed you today!"

"I missed you, too, baby," she cooed, breaking their embrace to give him an Eskimo kiss. Luckily, he was only five, so it was still acceptable for his Mom to show affection towards him in public. "How was school?"

"It was alright," he answered, shrugging his shoulders noncommittally, "but I have homework." Putting him down, she took his tiny hand in hers as they made their way towards the car. "I have to look through this magazine Miss Patty gave me and cut out EVERY letter of the alphabet."

"Well, you can work on it while Mommy teaches her class this evening, okay?" In response, her young son shook his head in agreement. "But first," she revealed, "we have to stop at the grocery store and pick up some things for Aunt Caitlyn.

"And the baby," he offered helpfully.

"And the baby," Marissa concurred, smiling at her son. He was delighted by the idea of having a cousin, especially since he would be older, just like his Mommy was older than his Aunt, and he would be able to be the boss when they played games. "Is there anything special you want for dinner," she changed the subject as they pulled into the small-town, family run store. Although they were within a comfortable drive into Atlanta, they lived in a rural area, perfect for Caitlyn's vet business. Marissa loved it and couldn't imagine ever living someplace else. While they were close enough to a large metropolis that provided them with shopping, entertainment, and every modern convenience, she adored the idea that she knew all her neighbors, that her son would know every student in his class, and that their was a large yard behind her studio and their apartment for Bailey to play in. In fact, she even had a small garden…with a pumpkin patch.

"Ummm…," her son's audible contemplation broke her away from her thoughts, "I want pizza and ice cream for dinner." _Obviously,_ Marissa laughed, _he has his mother's taste in food._

Their late afternoon passed by uneventfully as the mother and son pair ran their errands and hung out at home. Laughing and talking through the grocery store, Bailey rode in the cart while Marissa pushed him, detailing to his carefully listening and interested mother exactly how he had won the soccer game during recess that afternoon. Once they got home, she had cooked them dinner, pizza just as her junk food crazed son had requested, they had eaten together while she told him about her visit with Aunt Caitlyn. Afterwards, she had given him his bath, dressing him in his pajamas so that he was ready to do his homework while she taught her class that evening. It was a simple, pleasant way to spend the final hours of daylight, exactly how they shared every night.

"Mommy, Mommy," he called to her eagerly, waving his hands to distract her from her conversation with the first student to arrive, "come here, please!"

After excusing herself, she quickly made her way to her son's side. "What is it, honey? Do you not understand your assignment?"

"No, it's easy," he dismissed her concerns. "Look." As her eyes glanced down to the page he was pointing to, her heart immediately started racing, her breathing quickened, and her palms became clammy. "It's my name," he showed her excitedly, "Ryan Atwood….just like Bailey Ryan Atwood-Cooper. Isn't that cool, Mom?"

He was there, staring right back up at her from a page in a sports magazine, his picture displayed by the title of his article. It had been six years since Marissa had seen that face in reality. It haunted her dreams every night; it confronted her daily in the similarities her son shared with it, but, seeing him there, slightly older, his eyes slightly emptier, made her realize she still hadn't let go. Deep down inside of her heart, she was still very much in love with the man who had changed her entire world with just one flight, and, she knew, she probably always would be.

"Mommy," Bailey's annoyed and demanding tone brought her back to her present and away from her past, "you didn't answer me. It's cool right, that we have the same name?"

"It's very cool, baby," she smiled down at her son, searching his cobalt blue eyes, eyes so much like his father's, for several moments before leaning down and placing a tender kiss on his forehead. "Maybe someday, you'll get to meet him."

But first though, she would have to tell Ryan the truth, tell him he had a son….her son….their son….together.


End file.
